“Yes,” our father said when Jem asked if we could join Dill by Miss Rachel’s fishpool for his last night in Maycomb. “Tell him goodbye for me, and we’ll see him next summer.” We hopped over the low wall separating Miss Rachel’s yard from our driveway. Jem whistled, and Dill responded from the darkness.

“Not a breath of wind,” Jem said. “Look over there.”

He pointed to the east where a large moon was rising behind Miss Maudie’s pecan trees. “It makes it feel warmer,” he remarked. “Are we crossing tonight?” Dill asked, not looking up. He was busy crafting something from newspaper and string.

“No, just stay where you are. Don’t light that thing, Dill. It’ll cause a smell.”

In Maycomb, people often saw a lady in the moon. She was thought to be sitting at a dresser, combing her hair.

“We’re going to miss you, Dill,” I said. “Should we be on the lookout for Mr. Avery?”

Mr. Avery lived across the street from Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose’s house. He was known for sitting on his porch every night and sneezing loudly. One evening, Jem and I witnessed one of his sneezing fits, which seemed to be his last memorable performance. Jem and I were leaving Miss Rachel’s front steps one night when Dill pointed across the street.

At first, we only saw the porch covered in kudzu, but closer inspection revealed a stream of water coming from the leaves and splashing in the light circle of the street lamp. Jem said Mr. Avery had miscalculated, while Dill suggested he might drink a lot of water. This led to a light-hearted debate that made me feel a bit out of place.

Dill stretched, yawned, and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

It seemed unusual to me since nobody in Maycomb just went for a walk. “Where to, Dill?”

Dill pointed south.

“Okay,” Jem said. When I protested, Jem said gently, “You don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.”

“But why tonight?”

Dill explained that it was easier to be unnoticed at night and that it was more convenient to see inside a dark house when it was dark outside. “Jem, please—”

“Scout, I’m telling you one last time, be quiet or go home. You’re acting more like a girl every day!”

With no other choice, I joined them. We decided to go under the high wire fence at the back of the Radley lot where we were less likely to be seen. The fence enclosed a large garden and a narrow wooden outhouse.

Jem lifted the bottom wire and motioned for Dill to go under. I followed and held up the wire for Jem. It was a tight fit. “Don’t make a sound,” Jem whispered. “Try to avoid the collards; we don’t want to draw attention.”

Moving slowly, I caught up with Jem, who was signaling us from the moonlight.

We reached the gate separating the garden from the backyard. Jem touched it, and it made a noise.

“Spit on it,” whispered Dill.

“You’ve put us in a tough spot, Jem,” I whispered back. “We won’t get out easily.”

“Shh. Just spit on it, Scout.”

We did, and Jem opened the gate slowly, setting it aside. We were now in the backyard.

The back of the Radley house looked less welcoming: a run-down porch spanned the width of the house, with two doors and two dark windows. A rough board supported one end of the roof, and an old stove sat in the corner of the porch, with a hat-rack mirror catching the moonlight.

“Look out,” Jem whispered, lifting his foot. “What’s that?”

“Chickens,” Dill said softly.

We continued quietly, with Dill ahead of us spelling out words in a whisper. We crept around the house to the window with the loose shutter. The sill was several inches taller than Jem.

“I’ll help you up,” Jem said to Dill. We formed a human pyramid, with Dill sitting on top and grabbing the window sill.

“Hurry,” Jem urged. “We can’t stay long.”

Dill climbed back down and reported, “Nothing. Just curtains. But there’s a tiny light somewhere.”

“Let’s move,” Jem said quietly. “We’ll try the back window.”

“Dill, no,” I said.

Dill stopped and let Jem proceed. When Jem put his foot on the bottom step, it squeaked. He tested it slowly and, finding it stable, climbed up onto the porch. He carefully crawled to the window and looked inside.

Then I saw a shadow—at first, I thought it was a tree, but there was no wind. The shadow, clear in the moonlight, moved toward Jem. Dill noticed it next and covered his face.

When the shadow reached Jem, he froze. The shadow stopped, and then it moved away, crossing the porch and disappearing.

Jem jumped off the porch and hurried back to us. He opened the gate, guided Dill and me through, and hurried us between rows of collards. As we reached the middle, I stumbled, and a shotgun blast rang out, startling us.

Dill and Jem dove beside me. Jem, breathing heavily, urged, “Get to the fence by the schoolyard—quick, Scout!

Jem held the bottom wire; Dill and I rolled through and were halfway to the schoolyard’s oak tree when we noticed Jem wasn’t with us. We ran back and found him struggling to get free from the fence, kicking his pants off to get loose. He made it to the oak tree in his shorts.

Once we were safely behind the tree, Jem was worried: “We need to get home before they notice we’re missing.”

We ran across the schoolyard, crawled under the fence to Deer’s Pasture behind our house, climbed over our back fence, and reached the back steps before Jem let us stop to rest.

After catching our breath, we walked as casually as possible to the front yard. We looked down the street and saw a group of neighbors gathered at the Radley front gate.

“We should go down there,” Jem said. “They’ll wonder why we’re not there.”

Mr. Nathan Radley stood inside his gate, holding a shotgun. Atticus was with Miss Maudie, Miss Stephanie Crawford, Miss Rachel, and Mr. Avery. None of them noticed us approaching.

We joined Miss Maudie, who looked around. “Where have you all been? Did you hear the commotion?” she asked. Jem asked, “What happened?”

“Mr. Radley fired a shot,” Miss Stephanie explained. “He shot in the air to scare someone away. He said if he hears anything else in his yard, he won’t aim high next time.”

Atticus then asked Jem, “Where are your pants?”

“Pants, sir?” Jem replied.

“Pants.”

There was no avoiding it. Jem was standing there in his shorts. I sighed and said, “Ah, Mr. Finch?”

Dill, looking anxious, spoke up. “I won them from him,” he said vaguely. “Won them? How?”

Dill shuffled his feet and mumbled, “We were playing a game by the fishpool,” he said.

Jem and I relaxed as the neighbors seemed to accept Dill’s explanation. Miss Rachel, however, was not pleased. “Playing games by my fishpool? I’ll talk to you about it later!”

Atticus stepped in to diffuse the situation. “Just a minute, Miss Rachel,” he said. “Let’s clarify. Were you all playing cards?”

Jem quickly replied, “No sir, just playing with matches.”

I admired Jem’s quick thinking. Matches were risky, but better than cards. “Jem, Scout,” said Atticus, “I don’t want to hear about any games like that again. Go to Dill’s and get your pants. Sort it out yourselves.”

“Don’t worry, Dill,” Jem said as we walked up the sidewalk. “She won’t be too upset. I’ll explain everything.”

We stopped to listen and heard Atticus’s voice reassuring Miss Rachel. Dill seemed relieved, but Jem and I were still anxious about how Jem would manage to explain his missing pants.

“I could give you some of mine,” Dill offered as we reached Miss Rachel’s steps. Jem said they wouldn’t fit, but thanked him anyway. We said goodbye, and Dill went inside the house. He remembered his promise to me and gave me a quick kiss in front of Jem before heading inside.

Even if Jem had his pants, we wouldn’t have slept much. Every noise from the back porch seemed amplified, and I lay awake, imagining all sorts of things. I was only slightly relieved when Jem finally came back. He had retrieved his pants and was back on his cot.

He sat down and quietly laid out his pants. We settled down, and soon he was still, not making another sound.