Chapter 7 Chapter VII

For a full week after that Jem became moody and silent.I tried to get under Jem's skin and walk around like Jem, as Atticus once suggested: If I sneaked into the Radley place alone at two o'clock in the morning, I'd probably die the next afternoon. Gotta arrange a funeral for me.So I left him alone and didn't mess with him. school starts.Second grade was no better than first grade, and even worse—the teachers were still waving cards at us, neither reading nor writing.Miss Caroline taught in the next classroom, and her teaching progress could be inferred from the frequency of her laughter.However, the group of familiar faces repeated the grade again, and staying in the first grade was of great help in maintaining order in the classroom.The only good thing about second grade was that this year I got out of school at the same time as Jem, and we usually walked home together at three o'clock in the afternoon.

We were walking home across the campus one afternoon when Jem said suddenly, "There's something I didn't tell you." It was the first complete sentence he had said in days, so I guided him on: "What was it about?" "About that night." "You didn't tell me anything about that night," I said. Jem cut me off with a wave of his hand as if to repel a mosquito.He was silent for a moment, and then he said: "When I went back to get my trousers—it got tangled up in the wire when I wriggled out of them, and I couldn't untie them. But when I got back there..." He took a deep breath, "When I got back there, the pants were neatly folded and placed on the fence... It seemed that they were waiting for me to get them."

"Put it in..." "And..." Jem's voice grew muffled, "I'll show you when I get home. The trousers are sewn. Not like a woman sewed them, but by a man like me The way it looks. Stitched crookedly, it's almost like..." "...It seems that someone knows you will go to get it." Jem shivered. "It's like someone reads my mind...like someone knows what I'm up to. Nobody can know what I'm up to unless they know me well, don't you think, Scout?" Jem was asking for my comfort.I reassured him and said, "Unless someone lives under the same roof as you, no one can know what you're up to. Even I can't understand you sometimes."

As we passed the oak tree, we found a gray tangle of twine lying in a hollow. "Don't take it, Jim," I said, "it's where people keep their stuff." "Scout, I don't think so." "Yeah, that's right. Somebody, like Walter Cunningham, used to hide his things here between classes—and let us take them. Listen, we're going to Let things stay in there for a day or two. How about we take them away if they're still there?" "Well, you might be right," said Jem. "Must be a kid's hiding place--for fear of being picked up by the big boys. You see, we don't find them until school starts. Son."

"That's right," I said, "but we haven't been here during the summer either." And so we went home.The next morning the ball of twine was still in the hole.On the third day, when no one took it, Jem pocketed it.From then on, whenever we found anything in a tree hole, we took it all for ourselves. Second grade was boring, but Jem assured me that school would get more and more interesting as I got older, and that's how he got through it himself.He said that it was only in the sixth grade that he learned anything of value.As soon as the sixth grade started, he seemed quite satisfied.For a while he was obsessed with Egypt, which baffled me--he kept his body as straight as he could when he walked, with one arm out in front of him and the other behind him, one Put one foot behind the other.He claimed that's how the Egyptians walked.I said, if the Egyptians really walked like that, I really don't understand how they do things.But Jem said that the achievements of the Egyptians are not comparable to those of the Americans. They invented toilet paper and permanent embalming; he also asked me: If the Egyptians had not made these achievements, what would the world we live in be like today?Atticus told me to take out the adjectives and the rest is the truth.

In southern Alabama, the four seasons are not very clear: summer slips into autumn without knowing it, and autumn sometimes does not turn into winter, but turns into spring for only a few days, and then immediately Blend into summer.The autumn of that year was so long that it was not too cold to wear a light jacket.On a lukewarm October afternoon, Jem and I were jogging home along our usual track, when the hollow tree stopped us again.This time the contents were white. Jem gave me the honor of caving, and I pulled out two little figures carved out of soap—one a little boy, the other in a simple dress.

I forgot for a moment that there was no such thing as witchcraft, and threw them on the ground with a shriek. Jem picked it up hastily. "What's the matter with you?" he yelled at me, and hastily wiped the dust off the two little figures with his hands. "It's a nice carve," he said, "I've never seen such a good carve." He held the little man in front of me.It was a miniature statue of two children, and it was almost flawless.The boy was wearing shorts, and a lock of smooth forehead hair fell over his eyebrows.I looked up at Jem, and there was a lock of straight brown hair hanging out of his head.This is something I never noticed before.

Jem looked at the little girl in his hand, and then at me.That girl has bangs, just like me. "It's us two," said Jem. "Who do you think carved it?" "Who do we know around here who can carve?" he asked. "Mr. Avery." "Mr. Avery can only whittle wood. I mean carving." Mr. Avery whittled a stick about once a week until he ground it into a toothpick, and chewed it in his mouth. "And old Miss Stephanie's lover." "He's a decent carver, but he lives in the country. When did he notice us both?" "Maybe he's looking at us, not Miss Stephanie, as he sits on the porch. If I were him, I would."

Jem stared at me for a long time, and I asked him what was the matter, and he just said, It's nothing, Scout.As soon as he got home, Jem put the two dolls in his trunk. Within two weeks we found another whole pack of gum, and the two of us munched so happily that Jem hadn't forgotten that everything from the Radleys was poisonous. The following week, a faded medal emerged from the hollow of the tree.Jem showed it to Atticus, and Atticus said it was a spelling bee medal.Before we were born, Maycomb County schools held annual spelling bees and awarded medals to the winners.Atticus said, who must have lost the medal, did you ask around?I was about to tell him the way, when Jem gave me a back kick.Jem asked Atticus if he remembered anyone who had won a medal, and Atticus said he couldn't.

Our greatest gains came four days later.It was a pocket watch that would not go away, and it hung on a fob with an aluminum pocket knife. "Jem, do you think it's a platinum case?" "Don't know. I'll show Atticus." Atticus said it would be worth about ten dollars if it was new with the fob and knife. "Did you trade it with someone else?" he asked. "Oh, no!" Jem pulled Grandpa's watch from his pocket.Atticus allowed Jem to wear the watch once a week, provided he took good care of it.In the days when Jem wore a pocket watch, he walked as carefully as if he were stepping on an egg. "Atticus, if you're all right, I'd like to use this watch instead. Maybe I can fix it."

With this new watch, he gradually lost interest in his grandfather's pocket watch. Besides, carrying his grandfather's watch became a burden to him every day, and he no longer felt the need to check the time every five minutes. He repaired it pretty well, except for one spring and two small parts, but the watch still wouldn't move. "Oh—" he sighed, "this watch will never go away. Scout..." "Ok?" "Do you think we should write a letter to whoever sent us these things?" "Good idea, Jem, we can thank 'em—what's the matter?" Jem clutched his ears and shook his head to and fro. "I can't figure it out, I just can't figure it out - I don't know why, Scout..." He glanced in the direction of the living room, "I really want to tell Atticus - no, I think it's It’s better not to say anything.” "I'll tell him for you." "No, Scout, don't tell me. Scout?" "how?" For a whole night, he hesitated to speak again and again, couldn't help but want to tell me some secret, his face lit up for a while, and he leaned closer to me to spit it out, but then he changed his mind and swallowed it back.This time he changed his mind again: "Oh, nothing." "Here, let's write a letter." I put the notebook and pencil under his nose. "Okay. My dear sir..." "How do you know it's a man? I'll bet it's Miss Maudie—I guessed it was her for a long time." "Huh, Miss Maudie can't chew gum..." Jem grinned. "You know, she has a really funny way of talking sometimes. Once, I offered her chewing gum, and she said, no thanks, that thing—it's chewing gum, it sticks to the roof of her palate and makes her speechless." Come on," said Jem enthusiastically, "doesn't that sound like fun?" "Yes, she says some very interesting things sometimes. But she can't possibly have a watch and a fob." "My dear sir," went on Jem, "we liked that very much—no, we liked all the things you gave us in the hollow of the tree. Jeremy Atticus Finch." "Jem, if you sign that name, he won't even know who you are." Jem erased the byline and rewrote "Jem Finch."I signed "Joan Louise Finch (Scout)" under his name and put the letter in an envelope. The next morning we went to school and Jem ran ahead of me until we got to the oak tree.Jem was facing me when he looked up, and I saw him turn pale all of a sudden. "Scout!" I ran towards him. Someone sealed the tree hole with cement. "Don't cry, all right, Scout... don't cry, don't worry..." He murmured comforting me all the way to school. We came home for lunch at noon that day, and when Jem wolfed it down, he ran out to stand on the front porch steps. "He hasn't passed here yet," he said. Next day Jem was there again, and this time he didn't fail. "Hello, Mr. Nathan," he greeted. "Hi, Jem, Scout," said Mr. Radley without stopping. "Mr. Radley," Jem called again. Mr. Radley turned around. "Mr. Radley, um—did you put that hole in the tree with cement?" "Yes," he replied, "I filled it in." "Why fill it in, sir?" "That tree's dying. When it's sick we fill the hole with cement. You should know that, Jem." Jem never said a word till evening.When we passed the tree again, he patted the cement on the tree thoughtfully, still looking very thoughtful.He seemed depressed, so I tried not to provoke him. We went to meet Atticus home from get off work that evening, as usual.When they got up the steps, Jem asked, "Atticus, look over there and see that tree, will you?" "Which tree, son?" "On the corner between the Radley house and the school, that's the one." "What's the matter?" "Is that tree dying?" "No, son, I don't think so. Look at the leaves, so green, so lush, not even a yellowing cluster..." "Are you not sick at all?" "That tree is as healthy as you, Jem. Why do you ask that?" "Mr. Nathan Radley said it was dying." "Oh, maybe. Mr. Radley must know his own tree better than we do." Atticus went inside, leaving us both on the front porch.Jem leaned against a post and rubbed his shoulders against it. "Are you itchy, Jem?" I asked as politely as I could.He said nothing. "Come in, Jem," I said. "Wait a minute." He stood there until dark, and I stayed with him.When I entered the room, I found that he had been crying, his face was dirty, one piece here, one piece there, just right, but the strange thing was that I didn't hear his cry.