Jem was facing me when he looked up, and I saw him go stark white.
“Scout!” I ran to him. Someone had filled our knot-hole with cement.
“Don’t you cry, now, Scout… don’t cry now, don’t you worry-” he muttered at me all the way to school.
When we went home for dinner Jem bolted his food, ran to the porch and stood on the steps. I followed him.
“Hasn’t passed by yet,” he said. Next day Jem repeated his vigil and was rewarded.
“Hidy do, Mr. Nathan,” he said. “Morning Jem, Scout,” said Mr. Radley, as he went by.
“Mr. Radley,” said Jem. Mr. Radley turned around. “Mr. Radley, ah—did you put cement in that hole in that tree down yonder?”
“Yes,” he said. “I filled it up.” “Why’d you do it, sir?”
“Tree’s dying. You plug ’em with cement when they’re sick. You ought to know that, Jem.”
Jem said nothing more about it until late afternoon.
When we passed our tree he gave it a meditative pat on its cement, and remained deep in thought.
He seemed to be working himself into a bad humor, so I kept my distance.
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