climbed our back fence and were at the back steps before Jem would let us pause to rest.
Respiration normal, the three of us strolled as casually as we could to the front yard.
We looked down the street and saw a circle of neighbors at the Radley front gate.
“We better go down there,” said Jem. “They’ll think it’s funny if we don’t show up.”
Mr. Nathan Radley was standing inside his gate, a shotgun broken across his arm.
Atticus was standing beside Miss Maudie and Miss Stephanie Crawford.
Miss Rachel and Mr. Avery were near by. None of them saw us come up. We eased in beside Miss Maudie, who looked around.
“Where were you all, didn’t you hear the commotion?” “What happened?” asked Jem.
“Mr. Radley shot at a Negro in his collard patch.”
“Oh. Did he hit him?” “No,” said Miss Stephanie. “Shot in the air. Scared him pale, though.”
“Says if anybody sees a white nigger around, that’s the one.”
“Says he’s got the other barrel waitin‘ for the next sound he hears in that patch, an’ next time he won’t aim high, be it dog, nigger, or—Jem Finch!”
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