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           "What,son?"

           "Nothing."

           "What’sthematterwithyou,boy,can’tyoutalk?"saidMr.Tate,grinningatJem."Didn’tyouknowyourdaddy’s—"

           "Hush,Heck,"saidAtticus,"let’sgobacktotown."

           Whentheydroveaway,JemandIwenttoMissStephanie’sfrontsteps.WesatwaitingforZeebotoarriveinthegarbagetruck.

           Jemsatinnumbconfusion,andMissStephaniesaid,"Uh,uh,uh,who’dathoughtofamaddoginFebruary?Maybehewadn’tmad,maybehewasjustcrazy.I’dhatetoseeHarryJohnson’sfacewhenhegetsinfromtheMobilerunandfindsAtticusFinch’sshothisdog.Bethewasjustfulloffleasfromsomewhere—"

           MissMaudiesaidMissStephanie’dbesingingadifferenttuneifTimJohnsonwasstillcomingupthestreet,thatthey’dfindoutsoonenough,they’dsendhisheadtoMontgomery.

           Jembecamevaguelyarticulate:"’dyouseehim,Scout?‘dyouseehimjuststandin’there?...‘n’allofasuddenhejustrelaxedallover,an’itlookedlikethatgunwasapartofhim...an’hediditsoquick,like...Ihaftaaimfortenminutes‘foreIcanhitsomethin’...."

           MissMaudiegrinnedwickedly."Wellnow,MissJeanLouise,"shesaid,"stillthinkyourfathercan’tdoanything?Stillashamedofhim?"

           "Nome,"Isaidmeekly.