To Kill a Mockingbird

scampered down the sidewalk toward a man approaching in the distance. The man waved, and the children raced each other to him.
    It was still summertime, and the children came closer. A boy trudged down the sidewalk dragging a fishingpole behind him. A man stood waiting with his hands on his hips. Summertime, and his children played in the front yard with their friend, enacting a strange little drama of their own invention.
    It was fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Dubose’s. The boy helped his sister to her feet, and they made their way home. Fall, and his children trotted to and fro around the corner, the day’s woes and triumphs on their faces. They stopped at an oak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive.
    Winter, and his children shivered at the front gate, silhouetted against a blazing house. Winter, and a man walked into the street, dropped his glasses, and shot a dog.
    Summer, and he watched his children’s heart break. Autumn again, and Boo’s children needed him.
    Atticus was right. One time he said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.
    The street lights were fuzzy from the fine rain that was falling. As I made my way home, I felt very old, but when I looked at the tip of my nose I could see fine misty beads, but looking cross-eyed made me dizzy so I quit. As I made my way home, I thought what a thing to tell Jem tomorrow. He’d be so mad he missed it he wouldn’t speak to me for days. As I made my way home, I thought Jem and I would get grown but there wasn’t much else left for us to learn, except possibly algebra.
    I ran up the steps and into the house. Aunt Alexandra had gone to bed, and Atticus’s room was dark. I would see if Jem might be reviving. Atticus was in Jem’s room, sitting by his bed. He was reading a book.
    “Is Jem awake yet?”
    “Sleeping peacefully. He won’t be awake until morning.”
    “Oh. Are you sittin‘ up with him?”
    “Just for an hour or so. Go to bed, Scout. You’ve had a long day.”
    “Well, I think I’ll stay with you for a while.”
    “Suit yourself,” said Atticus. It must have been after midnight, and I was puzzled by his amiable acquiescence. He was shrewder than I, however: the moment I sat down I began to feel sleepy.
    “Whatcha readin‘?” I asked.
    Atticus turned the book over. “Something of Jem’s. Called The Gray Ghost .”
    I was suddenly awake. “Why’d you get that one?”
    “Honey, I don’t know. Just picked it up. One of the few things I haven’t read,” he said pointedly.
    “Read it out loud, please, Atticus. It’s real scary.”
    “No,” he said. “You’ve had enough scaring for a while. This is too—”
    “Atticus, I wasn’t scared.”
    He raised his eyebrows, and I protested: “Leastways not till I started telling Mr. Tate about it. Jem wasn’t scared. Asked him and he said he wasn’t. Besides, nothin’s real scary except in books.”
    Atticus opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. He took his thumb from the middle of the book and turned back to the first page. I moved over and leaned my head against his knee. “H’rm,” he said. “ The Gray Ghost , by Seckatary Hawkins. Chapter One…”
    I willed myself to stay awake, but the rain was so soft and the room was so warm and his voice was so deep and his knee was so snug that I slept.
    Seconds later, it seemed, his shoe was gently nudging my ribs. He lifted me to my feet and walked me to my room. “Heard every word you said,” I muttered. “…wasn’t sleep at all, ‘s about a ship an’ Three-Fingered Fred ‘n’ Stoner’s Boy…”
    He unhooked my overalls, leaned me against him, and pulled them off. He held me up with one hand and reached for my pajamas with the other.
    “Yeah, an‘ they all thought it was Stoner’s Boy messin’ up their clubhouse an‘ throwin’ ink all over it an‘…”
    He guided me to the bed and sat me down. He lifted my legs and put me under the cover.
    “An‘ they chased him ’n‘ never could catch him ’cause they didn’t know what he looked like, an‘ Atticus, when they finally saw him, why he hadn’t done any of those things… Atticus, he was real nice…”
    His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking it around me.
    “Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.”
    He turned out the light and went into Jem’s room. He would be there all night, and