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           "IhaveafeelingthatJem’sreadingdaysarenumbered,"saidAtticus.

           "Onlyaweeklonger,Ithink,"shesaid,"justtomakesure..."

           Jemrose."But—"

           AtticusputouthishandandJemwassilent.Onthewayhome,Jemsaidhehadtodoitjustforamonthandthemonthwasupanditwasn’tfair.

           "Justonemoreweek,son,"saidAtticus.

           "No,"saidJem.

           "Yes,"saidAtticus.

           ThefollowingweekfoundusbackatMrs.Dubose’s.Thealarmclockhadceasedsounding,butMrs.Dubosewouldreleaseuswith,"That’lldo,"solateintheafternoonAtticuswouldbehomereadingthepaperwhenwereturned.Althoughherfitshadpassedoff,shewasineveryotherwayheroldself:whenSirWalterScottbecameinvolvedinlengthydescriptionsofmoatsandcastles,Mrs.Dubosewouldbecomeboredandpickonus:

           "JeremyFinch,Itoldyouyou’dlivetoregrettearingupmycamellias.Youregretitnow,don’tyou?"

           Jemwouldsayhecertainlydid.

           "ThoughtyoucouldkillmySnow-on-the-Mountain,didyou?Well,Jessiesaysthetop’sgrowingbackout.Nexttimeyou’llknowhowtodoitright,won’tyou?You’llpullitupbytheroots,won’tyou?"

           Jemwouldsayhecertainlywould.