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           Heputthenewspaperdownverycarefully,adjustingitscreaseswithlingeringfingers.Theyweretremblingalittle.

           "Gohome,Jem,"hesaid."TakeScoutandDillhome."

           Wewereaccustomedtoprompt,ifnotalwayscheerfulacquiescencetoAtticus’sinstructions,butfromthewayhestoodJemwasnotthinkingofbudging.

           "Gohome,Isaid."

           Jemshookhishead.AsAtticus’sfistswenttohis,sodidJem’s,andastheyfacedeachotherIcouldseelittleresemblancebetweenthem:Jem’ssoftbrownhairandeyes,hisovalfaceandsnug-fittingearswereourmother’s,contrastingoddlywithAtticus’sgrayingblackhairandsquare-cutfeatures,buttheyweresomehowalike.Mutualdefiancemadethemalike.

           "Son,Isaidgohome."

           Jemshookhishead.

           "I’llsendhimhome,"aburlymansaid,andgrabbedJemroughlybythecollar.HeyankedJemnearlyoffhisfeet.

           "Don’tyoutouchhim!"Ikickedthemanswiftly.Barefooted,Iwassurprisedtoseehimfallbackinrealpain.Iintendedtokickhisshin,butaimedtoohigh.

           "That’lldo,Scout."Atticusputhishandonmyshoulder."Don’tkickfolks.No—"hesaid,asIwaspleadingjustification.

           "Ain’tnobodygonnadoJemthatway,"Isaid.

           "Allright,Mr.Finch,get‘emoutahere,"someonegrowled."Yougotfifteensecondstoget‘emoutahere."

           Inthemidstofthisstrangeembly,AtticusstoodtryingtomakeJemmindhim.