I was putting my book on the floor beside my cot when I saw him.
The creatures are no more than an inch long, and when you touch them they roll themselves into a tight gray ball.
I lay on my stomach, reached down and poked him. He rolled up. Then, feeling safe, I suppose, he slowly unrolled.
He traveled a few inches on his hundred legs and I touched him again. He rolled up.
Feeling sleepy, I decided to end things. My hand was going down on him when Jem spoke.
Jem was scowling. It was probably a part of the stage he was going through, and I wished he would hurry up and get through it.
He was certainly never cruel to animals, but I had never known his charity to embrace the insect world.
“Why couldn’t I mash him?” I asked. “Because they don’t bother you,” Jem answered in the darkness.
He had turned out his reading light. “Reckon you’re at the stage now where you don’t kill flies and mosquitoes now, I reckon,” I said.
“Lemme know when you change your mind. Tell you one thing, though, I ain’t gonna sit around and not scratch a redbug.”
“Aw dry up,” he answered drowsily. Jem was the one who was getting more like a girl every day, not I.
Comfortable, I lay on my back and waited for sleep, and while waiting I thought of Dill.
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