“No, it’s a little after one. Hurry now.” That something was wrong finally got through to me. “What’s the matter?”
By then he did not have to tell me. Just as the birds know where to go when it rains, I knew when there was trouble in our street.
Soft taffeta-like sounds and muffled scurrying sounds filled me with helpless dread.
“Whose is it?” “Miss Maudie’s, hon,” said Atticus gently.
At the front door, we saw fire spewing from Miss Maudie’s dining room windows.
As if to confirm what we saw, the town fire siren wailed up the scale to a treble pitch and remained there, screaming.
“It’s gone, ain’t it?” moaned Jem. “I expect so,” said Atticus.
Now listen, both of you. Go down and stand in front of the Radley Place. Keep out of the way, do you hear?
See which way the wind’s blowing?“Oh,” said Jem. “Atticus, reckon we oughta start moving the furniture out?”
“Not yet, son. Do as I tell you. Run now. Take care of Scout, you hear? Don’t let her out of your sight.”
With a push, Atticus started us toward the Radley front gate.
We stood watching the street fill with men and cars while fire silently devoured Miss Maudie’s house.
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