When Atticus finally called us to order and bade us look at our plates instead of out the windows, Jem asked, “How do you make a snowman?”
I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Atticus. “I don’t want you all to be disappointed, but I doubt if there’ll be enough snow for a snowball, even.
Calpurnia came in and said she thought it was sticking. When we ran to the back yard, it was covered with a feeble layer of soggy snow.
“We shouldn’t walk about in it,” said Jem. “Look, every step you take’s wasting it.”
Jem said if we waited until it snowed some more we could scrape it all up for a snowman. I stuck out my tongue and caught a fat flake.
It burned. “Jem, it’s hot!” “No it ain’t, it’s so cold it burns. Now don’t eat it, Scout, you’re wasting it. Let it come down.”
“But I want to walk in it.” “I know what, we can go walk over at Miss Maudie’s.”
Jem hopped across the front yard. I followed in his tracks. When we were on the sidewalk in front of Miss Maudie’s, Mr. Avery accosted us.
He had a pink face and a big stomach below his belt. “See what you’ve done?” he said.
Hasn’t snowed in Maycomb since Appomattox. It’s bad children like you makes the seasons change.
I wondered if Mr. Avery knew how hopefully we had watched last summer for him to repeat his performance,
and reflected that if this was our reward, there was something to say for sin.
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