soit was not time to worry yet

It was no use. I unlatched the back door and held it while he crept down the steps. Itmust have been two o’clock. The moon was setting and the lattice-work shadows werefading into fuzzy nothingness. Jem’s white shirt-tail dipped and bobbed like a smallghost dancing away to escape the coming morning. A faint breeze stirred and cooledthe sweat running down my sides.

He went the back way, through Deer’s Pasture, across the schoolyard and around tothe fence, I thought—at least that was the way he was headed. It would take longer. I waited until it was time to worry and listened for Mr.

Radley’s shotgun. Then I thought I heard the back fence squeak. It was wishful thinking.

Then I heard Atticus cough. I held my breath. Sometimes when we made a midnightpilgrimage to the bathroom we would find him reading. He said he often woke up duringthe night, checked on us, and read himself back to sleep. I waited for his light to go on,straining my eyes to see it flood the hall. It stayed off, and I breathed again. The night-crawlers had retired, but ripe chinaberries drummed on the roof when the wind stirred,and the darkness was desolate with the barking of distant dogs.

There he was, returning to me. His white shirt bobbed over the back fence and slowlygrew larger. He came up the back steps, latched the door behind him, and sat on hiscot. Wordlessly, he held up his pants. He lay down, and for a while I heard his cottrembling. Soon he was still. I did not hear him stir again.