“Son, I can’t tell what you’re going to be—an engineer, a lawyer, or a portrait painter.”
“You’ve perpetrated a near libel here in the front yard. We’ve got to disguise this fellow.”
Atticus suggested that Jem hone down his creation’s front a little, swap a broom for the stovewood, and put an apron on him.
Jem explained that if he did, the snowman would become muddy and cease to be a snowman.
“I don’t care what you do, so long as you do something,” said Atticus. “You can’t go around making caricatures of the neighbors.”
“Ain’t a characterture,” said Jem. “It looks just like him.” “Mr. Avery might not think so.”
“I know what!” said Jem. He raced across the street, disappeared into Miss Maudie’s back yard and returned triumphant.
He stuck her sunhat on the snowman’s head and jammed her hedge-clippers into the crook of his arm.
Atticus said that would be fine. Miss Maudie opened her front door and came out on the porch. She looked across the street at us. Suddenly she grinned.
“Jem Finch,” she called. “You devil, bring me back my hat, sir!”
Jem looked up at Atticus, who shook his head. “She’s just fussing,” he said. “She’s really impressed with your—accomplishments.”
Atticus strolled over to Miss Maudie’s sidewalk, where they engaged in an arm-waving conversation,
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