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           Shelefttheroomandreturnedwithapurple-coveredbookonwhichMeditationsofJoshuaS.St.Clairwasstampedingold.

           "Yourcousinwrotethis,"saidAuntAlexandra."Hewasabeautifulcharacter."

           Jemexaminedthesmallvolume."IsthistheCousinJoshuawhowaslockedupforsolong?"

           AuntAlexandrasaid,"Howdidyouknowthat?"

           "Why,AtticussaidhewentroundthebendattheUniversity.Saidhetriedtoshootthepresident.SaidCousinJoshuasaidhewasn’tanythingbutasewer-inspectorandtriedtoshoothimwithanoldflintlockpistol,onlyitjustblewupinhishand.Atticussaiditcostthefamilyfivehundreddollarstogethimoutofthatone—"

           AuntAlexandrawasstandingstiffasastork."That’sall,"shesaid."We’llseeaboutthis."

           BeforebedtimeIwasinJem’sroomtryingtoborrowabook,whenAtticusknockedandentered.HesatonthesideofJem’sbed,lookedatussoberly,thenhegrinned.

           "Er—h’rm,"hesaid.Hewasbeginningtoprefacesomethingshesaidwithathroatynoise,andIthoughthemustatlastbegettingold,buthelookedthesame."Idon’texactlyknowhowtosaythis,"hebegan.

           "Well,justsayit,"saidJem."Havewedonesomething?"

           Ourfatherwasactuallyfidgeting."No,Ijustwanttoexplaintoyouthat—yourAuntAlexandraaskedme...son,youknowyou’reaFinch,don’tyou?"

           "That’swhatI’vebeentold."Jemlookedoutofthecornersofhiseyes.