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"
Jem
,
are
you
afraid
?
"
"
No
.
Think
we
’
re
almost
to
the
tree
now
.
Few
yards
from
that
,
an
’
we
’
ll
be
to
the
road
.
We
can
see
the
street
light
then
.
"
Jem
was
talking
in
an
unhurried
,
flat
toneless
voice
.
I
wondered
how
long
he
would
try
to
keep
the
Cecil
myth
going
.
"
You
reckon
we
oughta
sing
,
Jem
?
"
"
No
.
Be
real
quiet
again
,
Scout
.
"
We
had
not
increased
our
pace
.
Jem
knew
as
well
as
I
that
it
was
difficult
to
walk
fast
without
stumping
a
toe
,
tripping
on
stones
,
and
other
inconveniences
,
and
I
was
barefooted
.
Maybe
it
was
the
wind
rustling
the
trees
.
But
there
wasn
’
t
any
wind
and
there
weren
’
t
any
trees
except
the
big
oak
.
Our
company
shuffled
and
dragged
his
feet
,
as
if
wearing
heavy
shoes
.
Whoever
it
was
wore
thick
cotton
pants
;
what
I
thought
were
trees
rustling
was
the
soft
swish
of
cotton
on
cotton
,
wheek
,
wheek
,
with
every
step
.
I
felt
the
sand
go
cold
under
my
feet
and
I
knew
we
were
near
the
big
oak
.
Jem
pressed
my
head
.
We
stopped
and
listened
.
Shuffle
-
foot
had
not
stopped
with
us
this
time
.
His
trousers
swished
softly
and
steadily
.
Then
they
stopped
.
He
was
running
,
running
toward
us
with
no
child
’
s
steps
.
"
Run
,
Scout
!
Run
!
Run
!
"
Jem
screamed
.
I
took
one
giant
step
and
found
myself
reeling
:
my
arms
useless
,
in
the
dark
,
I
could
not
keep
my
balance
.
