I was trying to remember. Mr. Ewell was on me... Then he went

down.... Jem must have gotten up. At least I thought...

"Heck?"

"I said I took it off a drunk man downtown tonight. Ewell probably

found that kitchen knife in the dump somewhere. Honed it down and

bided his time... just bided his time."

Atticus made his way to the swing and sat down. His hands dangled

limply between his knees. He was looking at the floor. He had moved

with the same slowness that night in front of the jail, when I thought

It took him forever to fold his newspaper and toss it in his chair.

Mr. Tate clumped softly around the porch. "It ain't your decision,

Mr. Finch, it's all mine. It's my decision and my responsibility.

For once, if you don't see it my way, there's not much you can do

about it. If you wanta try, I'll call you a liar to your face. Your

boy never stabbed Bob Ewell," he said slowly, "didn't come near a mile

of it and now you know it. All he wanted to do was get him and his

sister safely home."

Mr. Tate stopped pacing. He stopped in front of Atticus, and his

back was to us. "I'm not a very good man, sir, but I am sheriff of

Maycomb County. Lived in this town all my life an' I'm goin' on

forty-three years old. Know everything that's happened here since

before I was born. There's a black boy dead for no reason, and the man

responsible for it's dead. Let the dead bury the dead this time, Mr.

Finch. Let the dead bury the dead."

Mr. Tate went to the swing and picked up his hat. It was lying

beside Atticus. Mr. Tate pushed back his hair and put his hat on.

"I never heard tell that it's against the law for a citizen to do

his utmost to prevent a crime from being committed, which is exactly

what he did, but maybe you'll say it's my duty to tell the town all

about it and not hush it up. Know what'd happen then? All the ladies

In Maycomb includin' my wife'd be knocking on his door bringing

angel food cakes. To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man

who's done you and this town a great service an' draggin' him with his

shy ways into the limelight- to me, that's a sin. It's a sin and I'm

not about to have it on my head. If it was any other man, it'd be

different. But not this man, Mr. Finch."

Mr. Tate was trying to dig a hole in the floor with the toe of his

boot. He pulled his nose, then he massaged his left arm. "I may not be

much, Mr. Finch, but I'm still sheriff of Maycomb County and Bob Ewell

fell on his knife. Good night, sir."

Mr. Tate stamped off the porch and strode across the front yard. His

car door slammed and he drove away.

Atticus sat looking at the floor for a long time. Finally he

raised his head. "Scout," he said, "Mr. Ewell fell on his knife. Can

you possibly understand?"

Atticus looked like he needed cheering up. I ran to him and hugged

him and kissed him with all my might. "Yes sir, I understand," I

reassured him. "Mr. Tate was right."

Atticus disengaged himself and looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it'd be sort of like shootin' a mockingbird, wouldn't it?"

Atticus put his face in my hair and rubbed it. When he got up and

walked across the porch into the shadows, his youthful step had

returned. Before he went inside the house, he stopped in front of

Boo Radley. "Thank you for my children, Arthur," he said.

31

When Boo Radley shuffled to his feet, light from the livingroom

windows glistened on his forehead. Every move he made was uncertain,

as if he were not sure his hands and feet could make proper contact

with the things he touched. He coughed his dreadful raling cough,

and was so shaken he had to sit down again. His hand searched for

his hip pocket, and he pulled out a handkerchief. He coughed into

it, then he wiped his forehead.

Having been so accustomed to his absence, I found it incredible that

he had been sitting beside me all this time, present. He had not

made a sound.

Once more, he got to his feet. He turned to me and nodded toward the

front door.

"You'd like to say good night to Jem, wouldn't you, Mr. Arthur? Come

right in."

I led him down the hall. Aunt Alexandra was sitting by Jem's bed.

"Come in, Arthur," she said. "He's still asleep. Dr. Reynolds gave him

a heavy sedative. Jean Louise, is your father in the livingroom?"

"Yes ma'am, I think so."

"I'll just go speak to him a minute. Dr. Reynolds left some..."

her voice trailed away.

Boo had drifted to a corner of the room, where he stood with his

chin up, peering from a distance at Jem. I took him by the hand, a

hand surprisingly warm for its whiteness. I tugged him a little, and

he allowed me to lead him to Jem's bed.

Dr. Reynolds had made a tent-like arrangement over Jem's arm, to

keep the cover off, I guess, and Boo leaned forward and looked over