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"
That
’
s
a
lie
.
Aunty
said
God
drops
‘
em
down
the
chimney
.
At
least
that
’
s
what
I
think
she
said
.
"
For
once
,
Aunty
’
s
diction
had
not
been
too
clear
.
"
Well
that
ain
’
t
so
.
You
get
babies
from
each
other
.
But
there
’
s
this
man
,
too
—
he
has
all
these
babies
just
waitin
’
to
wake
up
,
he
breathes
life
into
‘
em
.
.
.
.
"
Dill
was
off
again
.
Beautiful
things
floated
around
in
his
dreamy
head
.
He
could
read
two
books
to
my
one
,
but
he
preferred
the
magic
of
his
own
inventions
.
He
could
add
and
subtract
faster
than
lightning
,
but
he
preferred
his
own
twilight
world
,
a
world
where
babies
slept
,
waiting
to
be
gathered
like
morning
lilies
.
He
was
slowly
talking
himself
to
sleep
and
taking
me
with
him
,
but
in
the
quietness
of
his
foggy
island
there
rose
the
faded
image
of
a
gray
house
with
sad
brown
doors
"
Dill
?
"
"
Mm
?
"
"
Why
do
you
reckon
Boo
Radley
’
s
never
run
off
?
"
Dill
sighed
a
long
sigh
and
turned
away
from
me
.
"
Maybe
he
doesn
’
t
have
anywhere
to
run
off
to
.
.
.
.
"
After
many
telephone
calls
,
much
pleading
on
behalf
of
the
defendant
,
and
a
long
forgiving
letter
from
his
mother
,
it
was
decided
that
Dill
could
stay
.
We
had
a
week
of
peace
together
.
After
that
,
little
,
it
seemed
.
A
nightmare
was
upon
us
.
It
began
one
evening
after
supper
.
Dill
was
over
;
Aunt
Alexandra
was
in
her
chair
in
the
corner
,
Atticus
was
in
his
;
Jem
and
I
were
on
the
floor
reading
.
It
had
been
a
placid
week
:
I
had
minded
Aunty
;
Jem
had
outgrown
the
treehouse
,
but
helped
Dill
and
me
construct
a
new
rope
ladder
for
it
;
Dill
had
hit
upon
a
foolproof
plan
to
make
Boo
Radley
come
out
at
no
cost
to
ourselves
(
place
a
trail
of
lemon
drops
from
the
back
door
to
the
front
yard
and
he
’
d
follow
it
,
like
an
ant
)
.
There
was
a
knock
on
the
front
door
,
Jem
answered
it
and
said
it
was
Mr
.
Heck
Tate
.
