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Dill's eyes flickered at Jem, and Jem looked at the floor. Then he rose and broke the remaining code of our childhood. He went out of the room and down the hall. "Atticus," his voice was distant, "can you come here a minute, sir?"
Beneath its sweat-streaked dirt Dill's face went white. I felt sick. […]
Jem was standing in a corner of the room, looking like the traitor he was. "Dill, I had to tell him," he said. "You can't run three hundred miles off without your mother knowin'."
We left him without a word. (14.79-91)
Jem really is growing up—he puts adult notions of what's right (tell your parents before you decide to run off to a different county) before child ones (don't tattle on your friends). Is there a particular reason for Jem's change, or is it just part of getting older?
I raised up on my elbow, facing Dill's outline. "It's no reason to run off. They don't get around to doin' what they say they're gonna do half the time...." (14.109)
While kids get a bum rap for having short attention spans, it's adults who can't be trusted to follow through from the child perspective. But has Scout shared anything from her own experience that supports this view, or is she just sympathizing with Dill?
I felt the starched walls of a pink cotton penitentiary closing in on me, and for the second time in my life I thought of running away. Immediately. (14.24)
Those dresses may look pretty, but Scout thinks they'd just hold her in. (Fine—but do you have to wear overalls?)