Rewrite a chapter of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' from Jem's viewpoint

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Re-write a chapter of ‘To Kill a MockingBird’ from Jem’s point of view

When I came home from school, I found Scout with a wad in her mouth. I asked her where she had got it from.

 “I found it.”

 “Don’t eat things you find, Scout.” Honestly, it could have been anywhere.

         “This wasn’t on the ground, it was in a tree.”

Which still came to the same thing – it could have been anywhere. I growled.

 “Well it was,” she said. “It was sticking in that tree yonder, the one comin’ from school.”

Since when did she start arguin’ back? Boo could have poisoned it or used it as bait to get her!

“Spit it out right now!” I shouted. It was for her own good.

She spat it out, still arguing. “I’ve been chewing it all afternoon and I ain’t dead yet, not even sick.”

I stamped my foot at that. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to even touch the trees over there? You’ll get killed if you do!”

“You touched the house once!”

“That was different! You go gargle – right now, you hear me?”

“Ain’t neither, it’ll take the taste outa me mouth.”

She was starting to get on my nerves now. “You don’t ‘n I’ll tell Calpurnia on you!”

Finally, she decided to do as I had said. I don’t know what has gotten into her recently. Anyway, summer was coming, and summer meant Dill. I couldn’t wait to get our ‘See-Boo-Radley’ plans into action. I don’t think Scout should join in this time; I’m starting to think she’s a bit too young.

It was the last day of school and Scout and I were walking home from school.        “Reckon old Dill’li be coming home tomorrow,” she said.

“Probably day after,” I said. “Mis’sippi turns ‘em loose a day later.”

As we came to the live oaks at the Radley place Scout raised her finger to point to the knot-hole where I saw something small and shiny, like tinfoil. What could it be? My mind pulsed with possibilities. Boo had put it there…

Join now!

“I see it, Scout! I see it-“

I looked around, reached up, and carefully pocketed the tiny shiny package.  We ran home, and on the front porch we looked at a small patchworked box with tiny bits of foil collected from chewing-gum wrappers. It was the kind of box wedding rings came in, purple velvet with a minute catch. I flicked it open and saw two polished pennies inside, one on top of the other. I looked at them more closely.

“Indian-heads,” I said. “Nineteen-six and Scout, one of ‘em’s nineteen-hundred. These are real old.”

“Nineteen-hundred” she echoed. “say-“

“Hush ...

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