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           Thelivingroomlightswereawfullystrong.

           Wefiledout,firstMr.Tate—Atticuswaswaitingatthedoorforhimtogoaheadofhim.ThenhechangedhismindandfollowedMr.Tate.

           Peoplehaveahabitofdoingeverydaythingsevenundertheoddestconditions.Iwasnoexception:"Comealong,Mr.Arthur,"Iheardmyselfsaying,"youdon’tknowthehouserealwell.I’lljusttakeyoutotheporch,sir."

           Helookeddownatmeandnodded.

           Iledhimthroughthehallandpastthelivingroom.

           "Won’tyouhaveaseat,Mr.Arthur?Thisrocking-chair’sniceandcomfortable."

           Mysmallfantasyabouthimwasaliveagain:hewouldbesittingontheporch...rightprettyspellwe’rehaving,isn’tit,Mr.Arthur?

           Yes,arightprettyspell.Feelingslightlyunreal,IledhimtothechairfarthestfromAtticusandMr.Tate.Itwasindeepshadow.Boowouldfeelmorecomfortableinthedark.

           Atticuswassittingintheswing,andMr.Tatewasinachairnexttohim.Thelightfromthelivingroomwindowswasstrongonthem.IsatbesideBoo.

           "Well,Heck,"Atticuswassaying,"Iguessthethingtodo—goodLord,I’mlosingmymemory..."Atticuspusheduphisglassesandpressedhisfingerstohiseyes."Jem’snotquitethirteen...no,he’salreadythirteen—Ican’tremember.Anyway,it’llcomebeforecountycourt—"

           "Whatwill,Mr.Finch?"Mr.Tateuncrossedhislegsandleanedforward.

           "Ofcourseitwasclear-cutselfdefense,butI’llhavetogototheofficeandhuntup—"

           "Mr.