1960TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRDby Harper Lee《杀死一只知更鸟（To Kill A Mockingbird）》（英文版）作者：哈柏李（Harper Lee）一位不顾个人安危，为黑人伸张正义的律师——艾蒂科斯·芬奇。芬奇在南方梅岗城任职，为人正直沉稳，常常不计报酬地为穷人们伸张正义。他对年幼丧母的女儿斯科特与儿子詹姆即严格又慈爱。有一次谈起打鸟时，他对孩子说，不要去杀死知更鸟，因为它们只为人类歌唱，从来不做危害人类的事情。

　　在当地，歧视黑人的现象十分严重。一天，芬奇去法院为黑人汤姆一案当辩护律师。白人检查官指控汤姆犯有强奸罪，芬奇经过认真调查，发现事实并非如此。于是，在法庭上，他实事求是地进行辩护，把对汤姆的指控一一加以驳斥，最后他要求判汤姆无罪，并且义正辞严地呼吁人们要尊重事实，要维护人类的尊严与平等。可是法官与陪审团都偏信原告的“证词”，仍判汤姆有罪。而且，事情并没有就此结束，持种族偏见的一些白人进而对芬奇一家进行挑衅和恫吓，詹姆与斯科特在参加万圣节庆祝活动时被一伙歹徒袭击，詹姆的胳膊被扭断。面对强暴，芬奇毫不畏缩，他准备继续为汤姆申诉。

　　主题·人生的善恶问题。善良与罪恶并存，因而应该欣赏他人美德并以同情态度从他人的视角看待生活来理解他人的罪恶。

　　·罪恶威胁着无辜者。

　　·同情与理解在良知发展中的作用。

　　·儿童与知识和道德上的教育。最重要的是教育他们具同情和理解之心，而同情和理解的方式是教育的最佳途径。

　　·种族歧视与社会等级的虚伪。

　　·从童年向成年的过渡问题。人活着不泯灭良知而又不丧失希望、不愤世疾俗是可能的。

　　象征知更鸟（Mockingbird）在字面上与情节没什么联系，但在小说中具有强大象征性。它代表了天真无辜者。而“杀死一只知更鸟”的故事就是一个罪恶毁灭天真无辜者的故事。小说中的杰姆（Jem）、汤姆·鲁滨逊（Tom Robinson）、迪尔（Dill）、布（Boo）、雷蒙德先生（Mr. Raymoud）、梅耶拉·尤厄尔（Mayella Ewell）都是“知更鸟”。

　　布·拉德力（Boo Radley） “布”在小说中很少露面，但孩子们对“布”的态度的变化是衡量孩子们从童年的天真发展为具有承认的道德观的重要尺度。开始时被残暴的父亲摧毁而足不出户的“布”在孩子们眼中代表了恶魔的恐怖，而随着“布”不断向孩子们赠送小礼物，为杰姆缝补了裤子，他在孩子们眼中的形象也逐渐真实起来。到小说最后，“布”从鲍伯·尤厄尔手中救出了斯各特和杰姆时，在斯各特眼里，“布”已由一个鬼魂变成了一个人。“布”象征了人类的高贵善良品质，尽管曾经受伤害，但内心的纯洁善良贯穿于他整个生命。

　　DEDICATIONfor Mr. Lee and Alicein consideration of Love & AffectionLawyers, I suppose, were children once.

　　Charles LambPART ONE1When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly brokenat the elbow. When it healed, and Jem's fears of never being able toplay football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about hisinjury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when hestood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body,his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn't have cared less, solong as he could pass and punt.

　　When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them,we sometimes discussed the events leading to his accident. Imaintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four yearsmy senior, said it started long before that. He said it began thesummer Dill came to us, when Dill first gave us the idea of making BooRadley come out.

　　I said if he wanted to take a broad view of the thing, it reallybegan with Andrew Jackson. If General Jackson hadn't run the Creeks upthe creek, Simon Finch would never have paddled up the Alabama, andwhere would we be if he hadn't? We were far too old to settle anargument with a fist-fight, so we consulted Atticus. Our father saidwe were both right.

　　Being Southerners, it was a source of shame to some members of thefamily that we had no recorded ancestors on either side of theBattle of Hastings. All we had was Simon Finch, a fur-trappingapothecary from Cornwall whose piety was exceeded only by hisstinginess. In England, Simon was irritated by the persecution ofthose who called themselves Methodists at the hands of their moreliberal brethren, and as Simon called himself a Methodist, he workedhis way across the Atlantic to Philadelphia, thence to Jamaica, thenceto Mobile, and up the Saint Stephens. Mindful of John Wesley'sstrictures on the use of many words in buying and selling, Simonmade a pile practicing medicine, but in this pursuit he was unhappylest he be tempted into doing what he knew was not for the glory ofGod, as the putting on of gold and costly apparel. So Simon, havingforgotten his teacher's dictum on the possession of human chattels,bought three slaves and with their aid established a homestead onthe banks of the Alabama River some forty miles above SaintStephens. He returned to Saint Stephens only once, to find a wife, andwith her established a line that ran high to daughters. Simon lived toan impressive age and died rich.

　　It was customary for the men in the family to remain on Simon'shomestead, Finch's Landing, and make their living from cotton. Theplace was self-sufficient: modest in comparison with the empiresaround it, the Landing nevertheless produced everything required tosustain life except ice, wheat flour, and articles of clothing,supplied by river-boats from Mobile.

　　Simon would have regarded with impotent fury the disturbance betweenthe North and the South, as it left his descendants stripped ofeverything but their land, yet the tradition of living on the landremained unbroken until well into the twentieth century, when myfather, Atticus Finch, went to Montgomery to read law, and his youngerbrother went to Boston to study medicine. Their sister Alexandra wasthe Finch who remained at the Landing: she married a taciturn manwho spent most of his time lying in a hammock by the river wonderingif his trot-lines were full.

　　When my father was admitted to the bar, he returned to Maycomb andbegan his practice. Maycomb, some twenty miles east of Finch'sLanding, was the county seat of Maycomb County. Atticus's office inthe courthouse contained little more than a hat rack, a spittoon, acheckerboard and an unsullied Code of Alabama. His first two clientswere the last two persons hanged in the Maycomb County jail. Atticushad urged them to accept the state's generosity in allowing them toplead Guilty to second-degree murder and escape with their lives,but they were Haverfords, in Maycomb County a name synonymous withjackass. The Haverfords had dispatched Maycomb's leading blacksmith ina misunderstanding arising from the alleged wrongful detention of amare, were imprudent enough to do it in the presence of threewitnesses, and insisted that the-son-of-a-bitch-had-it-coming-to-himwas a good enough defense for anybody. They persisted in pleadingNot Guilty to first-degree murder, so there was nothing much Atticuscould do for his clients except be present at their departure, anoccasion that was probably the beginning of my father's profounddistaste for the practice of criminal law.

　　During his first five years in Maycomb, Atticus practiced economymore than anything; for several years thereafter he invested hisearnings in his brother's education. John Hale Finch was ten yearsyounger than my father, and chose to study medicine at a time whencotton was not worth growing; but after getting Uncle Jack started,Atticus derived a reasonable income from the law. He liked Maycomb, hewas Maycomb County born and bred; he knew his people, they knew him,and because of Simon Finch's industry, Atticus was related by blood ormarriage to nearly every family in the town.

　　Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I firstknew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grewon the sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it washotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer's day; bony muleshitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of thelive oaks on the square. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in themorning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o'clock naps,and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat andsweet talcum.

　　People moved slowly then. They ambled across the square, shuffled inand out of the stores around it, took their time about everything. Aday was twenty-four hours long but seemed longer. There was nohurry, for there was nowhere to go, nothing to buy and no money to buyit with, nothing to see outside the boundaries of Maycomb County.

　　But it was a time of vague optimism for some of the people: MaycombCounty had recently been told that it had nothing to fear but fearitself.

　　We lived on the main residential street in town- Atticus, Jem and I,plus Calpurnia our cook. Jem and I found our father satisfactory: heplayed with us, read to us, and treated us with courteous detachment.

　　Calpurnia was something else again. She was all angles and bones;she was nearsighted; she squinted; her hand was wide as a bed slat andtwice as hard. She was always ordering me out of the kitchen, askingme why I couldn't behave as well as Jem when she knew he was older,and calling me home when I wasn't ready to come. Our battles were epicand one-sided. Calpurnia always won, mainly because Atticus alwaystook her side. She had been with us ever since Jem was born, and I hadfelt her tyrannical presence as long as I could remember.

　　Our mother died when I was two, so I never felt her absence. She wasa Graham from Montgomery; Atticus met her when he was first elected tothe state legislature. He was middle-aged then, she was fifteenyears his junior. Jem was the product of their first year of marriage;four years later I was born, and two years later our mother diedfrom a sudden heart attack. They said it ran in her family. I didnot miss her, but I think Jem did. He remembered her clearly, andsometimes in the middle of a game he would sigh at length, then go offand play by himself behind the car-house. When he was like that, Iknew better than to bother him.

　　When I was almost six and Jem was nearly ten, our summertimeboundaries （within calling distance of Calpurnia） were Mrs. HenryLafayette Dubose's house two doors to the north of us, and theRadley Place three doors to the south. We were never tempted tobreak them. The Radley Place was inhabited by an unknown entity themere description of whom was enough to make us behave for days on end;Mrs. Dubose was plain hell.

　　That was the summer Dill came to us.

　　Early one morning as we were beginning our day's play in the backyard, Jem and I heard something next door in Miss Rachel Haverford'scollard patch. We went to the wire fence to see if there was apuppy- Miss Rachel's rat terrier was expecting- instead we foundsomeone sitting looking at us. Sitting down, he wasn't much higherthan the collards. We stared at him until he spoke:

　　"Hey.""Hey yourself," said Jem pleasantly.

　　"I'm Charles Baker Harris," he said. "I can read.""So what?" I said.

　　"I just thought you'd like to know I can read. You got anythingneeds readin' I can do it…""How old are you," asked Jem, "four-and-a-half?""Goin' on seven.""Shoot no wonder, then," said Jem, jerking his thumb at me. "Scoutyonder's been readin' ever since she was born, and she ain't evenstarted to school yet. You look right puny for goin' on seven.""I'm little but I'm old," he said.

　　Jem brushed his hair back to get a better look. "Why don't youcome over, Charles Baker Harris?" he said. "Lord, what a name.""'s not any funnier'n yours. Aunt Rachel says your name's JeremyAtticus Finch."Jem scowled. "I'm big enough to fit mine," he said. "Your name'slonger'n you are. Bet it's a foot longer.""Folks call me Dill," said Dill, struggling under the fence.

　　"Do better if you go over it instead of under it," I said.

　　"Where'd you come from?"Dill was from Meridian, Mississippi, was spending the summer withhis aunt, Miss Rachel, and would be spending every summer in Maycombfrom now on. His family was from Maycomb County originally, his motherworked for a photographer in Meridian, had entered his picture in aBeautiful Child contest and won five dollars. She gave the money toDill, who went to the picture show twenty times on it.

　　"Don't have any picture shows here, except Jesus ones in thecourthouse sometimes," said Jem. "Ever see anything good?"Dill had seen Dracula, * a revelation that moved Jem to eye himwith the beginning of respect. "Tell it to us," he said.

　　* In DOS versions italicized text is enclosed in chevrons.

　　Dill was a curiosity. He wore blue linen shorts that buttoned to hisshirt, his hair was snow white and stuck to his head like duckfluff;he was a year my senior but I towered over him. As he told us theold tale his blue eyes would lighten and darken; his laugh wassudden and happy; he habitually pulled at a cowlick in the center ofhis forehead.

　　When Dill reduced Dracula to dust, and Jem said the show soundedbetter than the book, I asked Dill where his father was: "You ain'tsaid anything about him.""I haven't got one.""Is he dead?""No…""Then if he's not dead you've got one, haven't you?"Dill blushed and Jem told me to hush, a sure sign that Dill had beenstudied and found acceptable. Thereafter the summer passed inroutine contentment. Routine contentment was: improving ourtreehouse that rested between giant twin chinaberry trees in theback yard, fussing, running through our list of dramas based on theworks of Oliver Optic, Victor Appleton, and Edgar Rice Burroughs. Inthis matter we were lucky to have Dill. He played the characterparts formerly thrust upon me- the ape in Tarzan, Mr. Crabtree inThe Rover Boys, Mr. Damon in Tom Swift. Thus we came to knowDill as a pocket Merlin, whose head teemed with eccentric plans,strange longings, and quaint fancies.

　　But by the end of August our repertoire was vapid from countlessreproductions, and it was then that Dill gave us the idea of makingBoo Radley come out.

　　The Radley Place fascinated Dill. In spite of our warnings andexplanations it drew him as the moon draws water, but drew him nonearer than the light-pole on the corner, a safe distance from theRadley gate. There he would stand, his arm around the fat pole,staring and wondering.

　　The Radley Place jutted into a sharp curve beyond our house. Walkingsouth, one faced its porch; the sidewalk turned and ran beside thelot. The house was low, was once white with a deep front porch andgreen shutters, but had long ago darkened to the color of theslate-gray yard around it. Rain-rotted shingles drooped over the eavesof the veranda; oak trees kept the sun away. The remains of a picketdrunkenly guarded the front yard- a "swept" yard that was never swept-where johnson grass and rabbit-tobacco grew in abundance.

　　Inside the house lived a malevolent phantom. People said he existed,but Jem and I had never seen him. People said he went out at nightwhen the moon was down, and peeped in windows. When people's azaleasfroze in a cold snap, it was because he had breathed on them. Anystealthy small crimes committed in Maycomb were his work. Once thetown was terrorized by a series of morbid nocturnal events: people'schickens and household pets were found mutilated; although the culpritwas Crazy Addie, who eventually drowned himself in Barker's Eddy,people still looked at the Radley Place, unwilling to discard theirinitial suspicions. A Negro would not pass the Radley Place atnight, he would cut across to the sidewalk opposite and whistle ashe walked. The Maycomb school grounds adjoined the back of theRadley lot; from the Radley chickenyard tall pecan trees shook theirfruit into the schoolyard, but the nuts lay untouched by the children:

　　Radley pecans would kill you. A baseball hit into the Radley yardwas a lost ball and no questions asked.

　　The misery of that house began many years before Jem and I wereborn. The Radleys, welcome anywhere in town, kept to themselves, apredilection unforgivable in Maycomb. They did not go to church,Maycomb's principal recreation, but worshiped at home; Mrs. Radleyseldom if ever crossed the street for a mid-morning coffee breakwith her neighbors, and certainly never joined a missionary circle.

　　Mr. Radley walked to town at eleven-thirty every morning and came backpromptly at twelve, sometimes carrying a brown paper bag that theneighborhood assumed contained the family groceries. I never knewhow old Mr. Radley made his living- Jem said he "bought cotton," apolite term for doing nothing- but Mr. Radley and his wife had livedthere with their two sons as long as anybody could remember.

　　The shutters and doors of the Radley house were closed on Sundays,another thing alien to Maycomb's ways: closed doors meant illnessand cold weather only. Of all days Sunday was the day for formalafternoon visiting: ladies wore corsets, men wore coats, children woreshoes. But to climb the Radley front steps and call, "He-y," of aSunday afternoon was something their neighbors never did. The Radleyhouse had no screen doors. I once asked Atticus if it ever had any;Atticus said yes, but before I was born.

　　According to neighborhood legend, when the younger Radley boy was inhis teens he became acquainted with some of the Cunninghams from OldSarum, an enormous and confusing tribe domiciled in the northernpart of the county, and they formed the nearest thing to a gang everseen in Maycomb. They did little, but enough to be discussed by thetown and publicly warned from three pulpits: they hung around thebarbershop; they rode the bus to Abbottsville on Sundays and went tothe picture show; they attended dances at the county's riversidegambling hell, the Dew-Drop Inn & Fishing Camp; they experimented withstumphole whiskey. Nobody in Maycomb had nerve enough to tell Mr.

　　Radley that his boy was in with the wrong crowd.

　　One night, in an excessive spurt of high spirits, the boys backedaround the square in a borrowed flivver, resisted arrest byMaycomb's ancient beadle, Mr. Conner, and locked him in the courthouseouthouse. The town decided something had to be done; Mr. Conner saidhe knew who each and every one of them was, and he was bound anddetermined they wouldn't get away with it, so the boys came before theprobate judge on charges of disorderly conduct, disturbing thepeace, assault and battery, and using abusive and profane languagein the presence and hearing of a female. The judge asked Mr. Connerwhy he included the last charge; Mr. Conner said they cussed so loudhe was sure every lady in Maycomb heard them. The judge decided tosend the boys to the state industrial school, where boys weresometimes sent for no other reason than to provide them with foodand decent shelter: it was no prison and it was no disgrace. Mr.

　　Radley thought it was. If the judge released Arthur, Mr. Radleywould see to it that Arthur gave no further trouble. Knowing thatMr. Radley's word was his bond, the judge was glad to do so.

　　The other boys attended the industrial school and received thebest secondary education to be had in the state; one of themeventually worked his way through engineering school at Auburn. Thedoors of the Radley house were closed on weekdays as well asSundays, and Mr. Radley's boy was not seen again for fifteen years.

　　But there came a day, barely within Jem's memory, when Boo Radleywas heard from and was seen by several people, but not by Jem. He saidAtticus never talked much about the Radleys: when Jem would questionhim Atticus's only answer was for him to mind his own business and letthe Radleys mind theirs, they had a right to; but when it happened Jemsaid Atticus shook his head and said, "Mm, mm, mm."So Jem received most of his information from Miss StephanieCrawford, a neighborhood scold, who said she knew the whole thing.

　　According to Miss Stephanie, Boo was sitting in the livingroom cuttingsome items from The Maycomb Tribune to paste in his scrapbook. Hisfather entered the room. As Mr. Radley passed by, Boo drove thescissors into his parent's leg, pulled them out, wiped them on hispants, and resumed his activities.

　　Mrs. Radley ran screaming into the street that Arthur was killingthem all, but when the sheriff arrived he found Boo still sitting inthe livingroom, cutting up the Tribune. He was thirty-three yearsold then.

　　Miss Stephanie said old Mr. Radley said no Radley was going to anyasylum, when it was suggested that a season in Tuscaloosa might behelpful to Boo. Boo wasn't crazy, he was high-strung at times. Itwas all right to shut him up, Mr. Radley conceded, but insisted thatBoo not be charged with anything: he was not a criminal. The sheriffhadn't the heart to put him in jail alongside Negroes, so Boo waslocked in the courthouse basement.

　　Boo's transition from the basement to back home was nebulous inJem's memory. Miss Stephanie Crawford said some of the town counciltold Mr. Radley that if he didn't take Boo back, Boo would die of moldfrom the damp. Besides, Boo could not live forever on the bounty ofthe county.

　　Nobody knew what form of intimidation Mr. Radley employed to keepBoo out of sight, but Jem figured that Mr. Radley kept him chainedto the bed most of the time. Atticus said no, it wasn't that sort ofthing, that there were other ways of making people into ghosts.

　　My memory came alive to see Mrs. Radley occasionally open thefront door, walk to the edge of the porch, and pour water on hercannas. But every day Jem and I would see Mr. Radley walking to andfrom town. He was a thin leathery man with colorless eyes, socolorless they did not reflect light. His cheekbones were sharp andhis mouth was wide, with a thin upper lip and a full lower lip. MissStephanie Crawford said he was so upright he took the word of God ashis only law, and we believed her, because Mr. Radley's posture wasramrod straight.

　　He never spoke to us. When he passed we would look at the ground andsay, "Good morning, sir," and he would cough in reply. Mr. Radley'selder son lived in Pensacola; he came home at Christmas, and he wasone of the few persons we ever saw enter or leave the place. Fromthe day Mr. Radley took Arthur home, people said the house died.

　　But there came a day when Atticus told us he'd wear us out if wemade any noise in the yard and commissioned Calpurnia to serve inhis absence if she heard a sound out of us. Mr. Radley was dying.

　　He took his time about it. Wooden sawhorses blocked the road at eachend of the Radley lot, straw was put down on the sidewalk, traffic wasdiverted to the back street. Dr. Reynolds parked his car in front ofour house and walked to the Radley's every time he called. Jem and Icrept around the yard for days. At last the sawhorses were taken away,and we stood watching from the front porch when Mr. Radley made hisfinal journey past our house.

　　"There goes the meanest man ever God blew breath into," murmuredCalpurnia, and she spat meditatively into the yard. We looked at herin surprise, for Calpurnia rarely commented on the ways of whitepeople.

　　The neighborhood thought when Mr. Radley went under Boo would comeout, but it had another think coming: Boo's elder brother returnedfrom Pensacola and took Mr. Radley's place. The only differencebetween him and his father was their ages. Jem said Mr. NathanRadley "bought cotton," too. Mr. Nathan would speak to us, however,when we said good morning, and sometimes we saw him coming from townwith a magazine in his hand.

　　The more we told Dill about the Radleys, the more he wanted to know,the longer he would stand hugging the light-pole on the corner, themore he would wonder.

　　"Wonder what he does in there," he would murmur. "Looks like he'djust stick his head out the door."Jem said, "He goes out, all right, when it's pitch dark. MissStephanie Crawford said she woke up in the middle of the night onetime and saw him looking straight through the window at her… saidhis head was like a skull lookin' at her. Ain't you ever waked up atnight and heard him, Dill? He walks like this-" Jem slid his feetthrough the gravel. "Why do you think Miss Rachel locks up so tight atnight? I've seen his tracks in our back yard many a mornin', and onenight I heard him scratching on the back screen, but he was gonetime Atticus got there.""Wonder what he looks like?" said Dill.

　　Jem gave a reasonable description of Boo: Boo was aboutsix-and-a-half feet tall, judging from his tracks; he dined on rawsquirrels and any cats he could catch, that's why his hands werebloodstained- if you ate an animal raw, you could never wash the bloodoff. There was a long jagged scar that ran across his face; what teethhe had were yellow and rotten; his eyes popped, and he drooled most ofthe time.

　　"Let's try to make him come out," said Dill. "I'd like to see whathe looks like."Jem said if Dill wanted to get himself killed, all he had to dowas go up and knock on the front door.

　　Our first raid came to pass only because Dill bet Jem The GrayGhost against two Tom Swifts that Jem wouldn't get any farther thanthe Radley gate. In all his life, Jem had never declined a dare.

　　Jem thought about it for three days. I suppose he loved honor morethan his head, for Dill wore him down easily: "You're scared," Dillsaid, the first day. "Ain't scared, just respectful," Jem said. Thenext day Dill said, "You're too scared even to put your big toe in thefront yard." Jem said he reckoned he wasn't, he'd passed the RadleyPlace every school day of his life.

　　"Always runnin'," I said.

　　But Dill got him the third day, when he told Jem that folks inMeridian certainly weren't as afraid as the folks in Maycomb, thathe'd never seen such scary folks as the ones in Maycomb.

　　This was enough to make Jem march to the corner, where he stoppedand leaned against the light-pole, watching the gate hanging crazilyon its homemade hinge.

　　"I hope you've got it through your head that he'll kill us eachand every one, Dill Harris," said Jem, when we joined him. "Don'tblame me when he gouges your eyes out. You started it, remember.""You're still scared," murmured Dill patiently.

　　Jem wanted Dill to know once and for all that he wasn't scared ofanything: "It's just that I can't think of a way to make him comeout without him gettin' us." Besides, Jem had his little sister tothink of.

　　When he said that, I knew he was afraid. Jem had his little sisterto think of the time I dared him to jump off the top of the house: "IfI got killed, what'd become of you?" he asked. Then he jumped,landed unhurt, and his sense of responsibility left him untilconfronted by the Radley Place.

　　"You gonna run out on a dare?" asked Dill. "If you are, then-""Dill, you have to think about these things," Jem said. "Lemme thinka minute… it's sort of like making a turtle come out…""How's that?" asked Dill.

　　"Strike a match under him."I told Jem if he set fire to the Radley house I was going to tellAtticus on him.

　　Dill said striking a match under a turtle was hateful.

　　"Ain't hateful, just persuades him- 's not like you'd chunk him inthe fire," Jem growled.

　　"How do you know a match don't hurt him?""Turtles can't feel, stupid," said Jem.

　　"Were you ever a turtle, huh?""My stars, Dill! Now lemme think… reckon we can rock him…"Jem stood in thought so long that Dill made a mild concession: "Iwon't say you ran out on a dare an' I'll swap you The Gray Ghostif you just go up and touch the house."Jem brightened. "Touch the house, that all?"Dill nodded.

　　"Sure that's all, now? I don't want you hollerin' somethingdifferent the minute I get back.""Yeah, that's all," said Dill. "He'll probably come out after youwhen he sees you in the yard, then Scout'n' me'll jump on him and holdhim down till we can tell him we ain't gonna hurt him."We left the corner, crossed the side street that ran in front of theRadley house, and stopped at the gate.

　　"Well go on," said Dill, "Scout and me's right behind you.""I'm going," said Jem, "don't hurry me."He walked to the corner of the lot, then back again, studying thesimple terrain as if deciding how best to effect an entry, frowningand scratching his head.

　　Then I sneered at him.

　　Jem threw open the gate and sped to the side of the house, slappedit with his palm and ran back past us, not waiting to see if his foraywas successful. Dill and I followed on his heels. Safely on our porch,panting and out of breath, we looked back.

　　The old house was the same, droopy and sick, but as we stared downthe street we thought we saw an inside shutter move. Flick. A tiny,almost invisible movement, and the house was still.

　　2Dill left us early in September, to return to Meridian. We saw himoff on the five o'clock bus and I was miserable without him until itoccurred to me that I would be starting to school in a week. I neverlooked forward more to anything in my life. Hours of wintertime hadfound me in the treehouse, looking over at the schoolyard, spying onmultitudes of children through a two-power telescope Jem had given me,learning their games, following Jem's red jacket through wrigglingcircles of blind man's buff, secretly sharing their misfortunes andminor victories. I longed to join them.

　　Jem condescended to take me to school the first day, a job usuallydone by one's parents, but Atticus had said Jem would be delightedto show me where my room was. I think some money changed hands in thistransaction, for as we trotted around the corner past the Radley PlaceI heard an unfamiliar jingle in Jem's pockets. When we slowed to awalk at the edge of the schoolyard, Jem was careful to explain thatduring school hours I was not to bother him, I was not to approach himwith requests to enact a chapter of Tarzan and the Ant Men, toembarrass him with references to his private life, or tag along behindhim at recess and noon. I was to stick with the first grade and hewould stick with the fifth. In short, I was to leave him alone.

　　"You mean we can't play any more?" I asked.

　　"We'll do like we always do at home," he said, "but you'll see-school's different."It certainly was. Before the first morning was over, Miss CarolineFisher, our teacher, hauled me up to the front of the room andpatted the palm of my hand with a ruler, then made me stand in thecorner until noon.

　　Miss Caroline was no more than twenty-one. She had bright auburnhair, pink cheeks, and wore crimson fingernail polish. She also worehigh-heeled pumps and a red-and-white-striped dress. She looked andsmelled like a peppermint drop. She boarded across the street one doordown from us in Miss Maudie Atkinson's upstairs front room, and whenMiss Maudie introduced us to her, Jem was in a haze for days.

　　Miss Caroline printed her name on the blackboard and said, "Thissays I am Miss Caroline Fisher. I am from North Alabama, fromWinston County." The class murmured apprehensively, should she proveto harbor her share of the peculiarities indigenous to that region.

　　（When Alabama seceded from the Union on January 11, 1861, WinstonCounty seceded from Alabama, and every child in Maycomb County knewit.） North Alabama was full of Liquor Interests, Big Mules, steelcompanies, Republicans, professors, and other persons of nobackground.

　　Miss Caroline began the day by reading us a story about cats. Thecats had long conversations with one another, they wore cunning littleclothes and lived in a warm house beneath a kitchen stove. By the timeMrs. Cat called the drugstore for an order of chocolate malted micethe class was wriggling like a bucketful of catawba worms. MissCaroline seemed unaware that the ragged, denim-shirted andfloursack-skirted first grade, most of whom had chopped cotton and fedhogs from the time they were able to walk, were immune toimaginative literature. Miss Caroline came to the end of the story andsaid, "Oh, my, wasn't that nice?"Then she went to the blackboard and printed the alphabet in enormoussquare capitals, turned to the class and asked, "Does anybody knowwhat these are?"Everybody did; most of the first grade had failed it last year.

　　I suppose she chose me because she knew my name; as I read thealphabet a faint line appeared between her eyebrows, and aftermaking me read most of My First Reader and the stock-marketquotations from The Mobile Register aloud, she discovered that I wasliterate and looked at me with more than faint distaste. Miss Carolinetold me to tell my father not to teach me any more, it would interferewith my reading.

　　"Teach me?" I said in surprise. "He hasn't taught me anything,Miss Caroline. Atticus ain't got time to teach me anything," Iadded, when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head. "Why, he's sotired at night he just sits in the livingroom and reads.""If he didn't teach you, who did?" Miss Caroline askedgood-naturedly. "Somebody did. You weren't born reading The MobileRegister.""Jem says I was. He read in a book where I was a Bullfinch insteadof a Finch. Jem says my name's really Jean Louise Bullfinch, that Igot swapped when I was born and I'm really a-"Miss Caroline apparently thought I was lying. "Let's not let ourimaginations run away with us, dear," she said. "Now you tell yourfather not to teach you any more. It's best to begin reading with afresh mind. You tell him I'll take over from here and try to undothe damage-""Ma'am?""Your father does not know how to teach. You can have a seat now."I mumbled that I was sorry and retired meditating upon my crime. Inever deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowingillicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church- was itthen I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Nowthat I was compelled to think about it, reading was something thatjust came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suitwithout looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl ofshoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus'smoving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all theevenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to BeEnacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow- anything Atticushappened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night.

　　Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does notlove breathing.

　　I knew I had annoyed Miss Caroline, so I let well enough alone andstared out the window until recess when Jem cut me from the covey offirst-graders in the schoolyard. He asked how I was getting along. Itold him.

　　"If I didn't have to stay I'd leave. Jem, that damn lady saysAtticus's been teaching me to read and for him to stop it-""Don't worry, Scout," Jem comforted me. "Our teacher says MissCaroline's introducing a new way of teaching. She learned about itin college. It'll be in all the grades soon. You don't have to learnmuch out of books that way- it's like if you wanta learn about cows,you go milk one, see?""Yeah Jem, but I don't wanta study cows, I-""Sure you do. You hafta know about cows, they're a big part oflife in Maycomb County."I contented myself with asking Jem if he'd lost his mind.

　　"I'm just trying to tell you the new way they're teachin' thefirst grade, stubborn. It's the Dewey Decimal System."Having never questioned Jem's pronouncements, I saw no reason tobegin now. The Dewey Decimal System consisted, in part, of MissCaroline waving cards at us on which were printed "the," "cat," "rat,""man," and "you." No comment seemed to be expected of us, and theclass received these impressionistic revelations in silence. I wasbored, so I began a letter to Dill. Miss Caroline caught me writingand told me to tell my father to stop teaching me. "Besides," shesaid. "We don't write in the first grade, we print. You won't learn towrite until you're in the third grade."Calpurnia was to blame for this. It kept me from driving her crazyon rainy days, I guess. She would set me a writing task by scrawlingthe alphabet firmly across the top of a tablet, then copying out achapter of the Bible beneath. If I reproduced her penmanshipsatisfactorily, she rewarded me with an open-faced sandwich of breadand butter and sugar. In Calpurnia's teaching, there was nosentimentality: I seldom pleased her and she seldom rewarded me.

　　"Everybody who goes home to lunch hold up your hands," said MissCaroline, breaking into my new grudge against Calpurnia.

　　The town children did so, and she looked us over.

　　"Everybody who brings his lunch put it on top of his desk."Molasses buckets appeared from nowhere, and the ceiling dancedwith metallic light. Miss Caroline walked up and down the rows peeringand poking into lunch containers, nodding if the contents pleased her,frowning a little at others. She stopped at Walter Cunningham'sdesk. "Where's yours?" she asked.

　　Walter Cunningham's face told everybody in the first grade he hadhookworms. His absence of shoes told us how he got them. People caughthookworms going barefooted in barnyards and hog wallows. If Walter hadowned any shoes he would have worn them the first day of school andthen discarded them until mid-winter. He did have on a clean shirt andneatly mended overalls.

　　"Did you forget your lunch this morning?" asked Miss Caroline.

　　Walter looked straight ahead. I saw a muscle jump in his skinny jaw.

　　"Did you forget it this morning?" asked Miss Caroline. Walter'sjaw twitched again.

　　"Yeb'm," he finally mumbled.

　　Miss Caroline went to her desk and opened her purse. "Here's aquarter," she said to Walter. "Go and eat downtown today. You canpay me back tomorrow."Walter shook his head. "Nome thank you ma'am," he drawled softly.

　　Impatience crept into Miss Caroline's voice: "Here Walter, comeget it."Walter shook his head again.

　　When Walter shook his head a third time someone whispered, "Go onand tell her, Scout."I turned around and saw most of the town people and the entire busdelegation looking at me. Miss Caroline and I had conferred twicealready, and they were looking at me in the innocent assurance thatfamiliarity breeds understanding.

　　I rose graciously on Walter's behalf: "Ah- Miss Caroline?""What is it, Jean Louise?""Miss Caroline, he's a Cunningham."I sat back down.

　　"What, Jean Louise?"I thought I had made things sufficiently clear. It was clearenough to the rest of us: Walter Cunningham was sitting there lyinghis head off. He didn't forget his lunch, he didn't have any. He hadnone today nor would he have any tomorrow or the next day. He hadprobably never seen three quarters together at the same time in hislife.

　　I tried again: "Walter's one of the Cunninghams, Miss Caroline.""I beg your pardon, Jean Louise?""That's okay, ma'am, you'll get to know all the county folks after awhile. The Cunninghams never took anything they can't pay back- nochurch baskets and no scrip stamps. They never took anything off ofanybody, they get along on what they have. They don't have much, butthey get along on it."My special knowledge of the Cunningham tribe- one branch, that is-was gained from events of last winter. Walter's father was one ofAtticus's clients. After a dreary conversation in our livingroom onenight about his entailment, before Mr. Cunningham left he said, "Mr.

　　Finch, I don't know when I'll ever be able to pay you.""Let that be the least of your worries, Walter," Atticus said.

　　When I asked Jem what entailment was, and Jem described it as acondition of having your tail in a crack, I asked Atticus if Mr.

　　Cunningham would ever pay us.

　　"Not in money," Atticus said, "but before the year's out I'll havebeen paid. You watch."We watched. One morning Jem and I found a load of stovewood in theback yard. Later, a sack of hickory nuts appeared on the back steps.

　　With Christmas came a crate of smilax and holly. That spring when wefound a crokersack full of turnip greens, Atticus said Mr.

　　Cunningham had more than paid him.

　　"Why does he pay you like that?" I asked.

　　"Because that's the only way he can pay me. He has no money.""Are we poor, Atticus?"Atticus nodded. "We are indeed."Jem's nose wrinkled. "Are we as poor as the Cunninghams?""Not exactly. The Cunninghams are country folks, farmers, and thecrash hit them hardest."Atticus said professional people were poor because the farmerswere poor. As Maycomb County was farm country, nickels and dimeswere hard to come by for doctors and dentists and lawyers.

　　Entailment was only a part of Mr. Cunningham's vexations. The acresnot entailed were mortgaged to the hilt, and the little cash he madewent to interest. If he held his mouth right, Mr. Cunningham could geta WPA job, but his land would go to ruin if he left it, and he waswilling to go hungry to keep his land and vote as he pleased. Mr.

　　Cunningham, said Atticus, came from a set breed of men.

　　As the Cunninghams had no money to pay a lawyer, they simply paid uswith what they had. "Did you know," said Atticus, "that Dr. Reynoldsworks the same way? He charges some folks a bushel of potatoes fordelivery of a baby. Miss Scout, if you give me your attention I'lltell you what entailment is. Jem's definitions are very nearlyaccurate sometimes."If I could have explained these things to Miss Caroline, I wouldhave saved myself some inconvenience and Miss Caroline subsequentmortification, but it was beyond my ability to explain things aswell as Atticus, so I said, "You're shamin' him, Miss Caroline. Walterhasn't got a quarter at home to bring you, and you can't use anystovewood."Miss Caroline stood stock still, then grabbed me by the collar andhauled me back to her desk. "Jean Louise, I've had about enough of youthis morning," she said. "You're starting off on the wrong foot inevery way, my dear. Hold out your hand."I thought she was going to spit in it, which was the only reasonanybody in Maycomb held out his hand: it was a time-honored methodof sealing oral contracts. Wondering what bargain we had made, Iturned to the class for an answer, but the class looked back at mein puzzlement. Miss Caroline picked up her ruler, gave me half a dozenquick little pats, then told me to stand in the corner. A storm oflaughter broke loose when it finally occurred to the class that MissCaroline had whipped me.

　　When Miss Caroline threatened it with a similar fate the first gradeexploded again, becoming cold sober only when the shadow of MissBlount fell over them. Miss Blount, a native Maycombian as yetuninitiated in the mysteries of the Decimal System, appeared at thedoor hands on hips and announced: "If I hear another sound from thisroom I'll burn up everybody in it. Miss Caroline, the sixth gradecannot concentrate on the pyramids for all this racket!"My sojourn in the corner was a short one. Saved by the bell, MissCaroline watched the class file out for lunch. As I was the last toleave, I saw her sink down into her chair and bury her head in herarms. Had her conduct been more friendly toward me, I would havefelt sorry for her. She was a pretty little thing.

　　3Catching Walter Cunningham in the schoolyard gave me somepleasure, but when I was rubbing his nose in the dirt Jem came byand told me to stop. "You're bigger'n he is," he said.

　　"He's as old as you, nearly," I said. "He made me start off on thewrong foot.""Let him go, Scout. Why?""He didn't have any lunch," I said, and explained my involvementin Walter's dietary affairs.

　　Walter had picked himself up and was standing quietly listening toJem and me. His fists were half cocked, as if expecting an onslaughtfrom both of us. I stomped at him to chase him away, but Jem put outhis hand and stopped me. He examined Walter with an air ofspeculation. "Your daddy Mr. Walter Cunningham from Old Sarum?" heasked, and Walter nodded.

　　Walter looked as if he had been raised on fish food: his eyes, asblue as Dill Harris's, were red-rimmed and watery. There was nocolor in his face except at the tip of his nose, which was moistlypink. He fingered the straps of his overalls, nervously picking at themetal hooks.

　　Jem suddenly grinned at him. "Come on home to dinner with us,Walter," he said. "We'd be glad to have you."Walter's face brightened, then darkened.

　　Jem said, "Our daddy's a friend of your daddy's. Scout here, she'scrazy- she won't fight you any more.""I wouldn't be too certain of that," I said. Jem's free dispensationof my pledge irked me, but precious noontime minutes were tickingaway. "Yeah Walter, I won't jump on you again. Don't you likebutterbeans? Our Cal's a real good cook."Walter stood where he was, biting his lip. Jem and I gave up, and wewere nearly to the Radley Place when Walter called, "Hey, I'm comin'!"When Walter caught up with us, Jem made pleasant conversation withhim. "A hain't lives there," he said cordially, pointing to the Radleyhouse. "Ever hear about him, Walter?""Reckon I have," said Walter. "Almost died first year I come toschool and et them pecans- folks say he pizened 'em and put 'em overon the school side of the fence."Jem seemed to have little fear of Boo Radley now that Walter and Iwalked beside him. Indeed, Jem grew boastful: "I went all the way upto the house once," he said to Walter.

　　"Anybody who went up to the house once oughta not to still run everytime he passes it," I said to the clouds above.

　　"And who's runnin', Miss Priss?""You are, when ain't anybody with you."By the time we reached our front steps Walter had forgotten he was aCunningham. Jem ran to the kitchen and asked Calpurnia to set an extraplate, we had company. Atticus greeted Walter and began a discussionabout crops neither Jem nor I could follow.

　　"Reason I can't pass the first grade, Mr. Finch, is I've had to stayout ever' spring an' help Papa with the choppin', but there'sanother'n at the house now that's field size.""Did you pay a bushel of potatoes for him?" I asked, but Atticusshook his head at me.

　　While Walter piled food on his plate, he and Atticus talked togetherlike two men, to the wonderment of Jem and me. Atticus wasexpounding upon farm problems when Walter interrupted to ask ifthere was any molasses in the house. Atticus summoned Calpurnia, whoreturned bearing the syrup pitcher. She stood waiting for Walter tohelp himself. Walter poured syrup on his vegetables and meat with agenerous hand. He would probably have poured it into his milk glasshad I not asked what the sam hill he was doing.

　　The silver saucer clattered when he replaced the pitcher, and hequickly put his hands in his lap. Then he ducked his head.

　　Atticus shook his head at me again. "But he's gone and drowned hisdinner in syrup," I protested. "He's poured it all over-"It was then that Calpurnia requested my presence in the kitchen.

　　She was furious, and when she was furious Calpurnia's grammar becameerratic. When in tranquility, her grammar was as good as anybody'sin Maycomb. Atticus said Calpurnia had more education than mostcolored folks.

　　When she squinted down at me the tiny lines around her eyesdeepened. "There's some folks who don't eat like us," she whisperedfiercely, "but you ain't called on to contradict 'em at the table whenthey don't. That boy's yo' comp'ny and if he wants to eat up the tablecloth you let him, you hear?""He ain't company, Cal, he's just a Cunningham-""Hush your mouth! Don't matter who they are, anybody sets foot inthis house's yo' comp'ny, and don't you let me catch you remarkin'

　　on their ways like you was so high and mighty! Yo' folks might bebetter'n the Cunninghams but it don't count for nothin' the way you'redisgracin' 'em- if you can't act fit to eat at the table you canjust set here and eat in the kitchen!"Calpurnia sent me through the swinging door to the diningroom with astinging smack. I retrieved my plate and finished dinner in thekitchen, thankful, though, that I was spared the humiliation of facingthem again. I told Calpurnia to just wait, I'd fix her: one of thesedays when she wasn't looking I'd go off and drown myself in Barker'sEddy and then she'd be sorry. Besides, I added, she'd already gottenme in trouble once today: she had taught me to write and it was allher fault. "Hush your fussin'," she said.

　　Jem and Walter returned to school ahead of me: staying behind toadvise Atticus of Calpurnia's iniquities was worth a solitary sprintpast the Radley Place. "She likes Jem better'n she likes me,anyway," I concluded, and suggested that Atticus lose no time inpacking her off.

　　"Have you ever considered that Jem doesn't worry her half asmuch?" Atticus's voice was flinty. "I've no intention of getting ridof her, now or ever. We couldn't operate a single day without Cal,have you ever thought of that? You think about how much Cal does foryou, and you mind her, you hear?"I returned to school and hated Calpurnia steadily until a suddenshriek shattered my resentments. I looked up to see Miss Carolinestanding in the middle of the room, sheer horror flooding her face.

　　Apparently she had revived enough to persevere in her profession.

　　"It's alive!" she screamed.

　　The male population of the class rushed as one to her assistance.

　　Lord, I thought, she's scared of a mouse. Little Chuck Little, whosepatience with all living things was phenomenal, said, "Which way didhe go, Miss Caroline? Tell us where he went, quick! D.C.-" he turnedto a boy behind him- "D.C., shut the door and we'll catch him.

　　Quick, ma'am, where'd he go?"Miss Caroline pointed a shaking finger not at the floor nor at adesk, but to a hulking individual unknown to me. Little Chuck's facecontracted and he said gently, "You mean him, ma'am? Yessum, he'salive. Did he scare you some way?"Miss Caroline said desperately, "I was just walking by when itcrawled out of his hair… just crawled out of his hair-"Little Chuck grinned broadly. "There ain't no need to fear a cootie,ma'am. Ain't you ever seen one? Now don't you be afraid, you just goback to your desk and teach us some more."Little Chuck Little was another member of the population whodidn't know where his next meal was coming from, but he was a borngentleman. He put his hand under her elbow and led Miss Caroline tothe front of the room. "Now don't you fret, ma'am," he said. "Thereain't no need to fear a cootie. I'll just fetch you some cool water."The cootie's host showed not the faintest interest in the furor hehad wrought. He searched the scalp above his forehead, located hisguest and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.

　　Miss Caroline watched the process in horrid fascination. LittleChuck brought water in a paper cup, and she drank it gratefully.

　　Finally she found her voice. "What is your name, son?" she askedsoftly.

　　The boy blinked. "Who, me?" Miss Caroline nodded.

　　"Burris Ewell."Miss Caroline inspected her roll-book. "I have a Ewell here, but Idon't have a first name… would you spell your first name for me?""Don't know how. They call me Burris't home.""Well, Burris," said Miss Caroline, "I think we'd better excuseyou for the rest of the afternoon. I want you to go home and wash yourhair."From her desk she produced a thick volume, leafed through itspages and read for a moment. "A good home remedy for- Burris, I wantyou to go home and wash your hair with lye soap. When you've donethat, treat your scalp with kerosene.""What fer, missus?""To get rid of the- er, cooties. You see, Burris, the other childrenmight catch them, and you wouldn't want that, would you?"The boy stood up. He was the filthiest human I had ever seen. Hisneck was dark gray, the backs of his hands were rusty, and hisfingernails were black deep into the quick. He peered at Miss Carolinefrom a fist-sized clean space on his face. No one had noticed him,probably, because Miss Caroline and I had entertained the class mostof the morning.

　　"And Burris," said Miss Caroline, "please bathe yourself beforeyou come back tomorrow."The boy laughed rudely. "You ain't sendin' me home, missus. I was onthe verge of leavin'- I done done my time for this year."Miss Caroline looked puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"The boy did not answer. He gave a short contemptuous snort.

　　One of the elderly members of the class answered her: "He's one ofthe Ewells, ma'am," and I wondered if this explanation would be asunsuccessful as my attempt. But Miss Caroline seemed willing tolisten. "Whole school's full of 'em. They come first day every yearand then leave. The truant lady gets 'em here 'cause she threatens 'emwith the sheriff, but she's give up tryin' to hold 'em. She reckonsshe's carried out the law just gettin' their names on the roll andrunnin' 'em here the first day. You're supposed to mark 'em absent therest of the year…""But what about their parents?" asked Miss Caroline, in genuineconcern.

　　"Ain't got no mother," was the answer, "and their paw's rightcontentious."Burris Ewell was flattered by the recital. "Been comin' to the firstday o' the first grade fer three year now," he said expansively.

　　"Reckon if I'm smart this year they'll promote me to the second…"Miss Caroline said, "Sit back down, please, Burris," and themoment she said it I knew she had made a serious mistake. The boy'scondescension flashed to anger.

　　"You try and make me, missus."Little Chuck Little got to his feet. "Let him go, ma'am," he said.

　　"He's a mean one, a hard-down mean one. He's liable to startsomethin', and there's some little folks here."He was among the most diminutive of men, but when Burris Ewellturned toward him, Little Chuck's right hand went to his pocket.

　　"Watch your step, Burris," he said. "I'd soon's kill you as look atyou. Now go home."Burris seemed to be afraid of a child half his height, and MissCaroline took advantage of his indecision: "Burris, go home. If youdon't I'll call the principal," she said. "I'll have to report this,anyway."The boy snorted and slouched leisurely to the door.

　　Safely out of range, he turned and shouted: "Report and be damned toye! Ain't no snot-nosed slut of a schoolteacher ever born c'n makeme do nothin'! You ain't makin' me go nowhere, missus. You justremember that, you ain't makin' me go nowhere!"He waited until he was sure she was crying, then he shuffled outof the building.

　　Soon we were clustered around her desk, trying in our various waysto comfort her. He was a real mean one… below the belt… youain't called on to teach folks like that… them ain't Maycomb's ways,Miss Caroline, not really… now don't you fret, ma'am. Miss Caroline,why don't you read us a story? That cat thing was real fine thismornin'…Miss Caroline smiled, blew her nose, said, "Thank you, darlings,"dispersed us, opened a book and mystified the first grade with along narrative about a toadfrog that lived in a hall.

　　When I passed the Radley Place for the fourth time that day- twiceat a full gallop- my gloom had deepened to match the house. If theremainder of the school year were as fraught with drama as the firstday, perhaps it would be mildly entertaining, but the prospect ofspending nine months refraining from reading and writing made me thinkof running away.

　　By late afternoon most of my traveling plans were complete; when Jemand I raced each other up the sidewalk to meet Atticus coming homefrom work, I didn't give him much of a race. It was our habit to runmeet Atticus the moment we saw him round the post office corner in thedistance. Atticus seemed to have forgotten my noontime fall fromgrace; he was full of questions about school. My replies weremonosyllabic and he did not press me.

　　Perhaps Calpurnia sensed that my day had been a grim one: she let mewatch her fix supper. "Shut your eyes and open your mouth and I'llgive you a surprise," she said.

　　It was not often that she made crackling bread, she said she neverhad time, but with both of us at school today had been an easy one forher. She knew I loved crackling bread.

　　"I missed you today," she said. "The house got so lonesome 'longabout two o'clock I had to turn on the radio.""Why? Jem'n me ain't ever in the house unless it's rainin'.""I know," she said, "But one of you's always in callin' distance.

　　I wonder how much of the day I spend just callin' after you. Well,"she said, getting up from the kitchen chair, "it's enough time to makea pan of cracklin' bread, I reckon. You run along now and let me getsupper on the table."Calpurnia bent down and kissed me. I ran along, wondering what hadcome over her. She had wanted to make up with me, that was it. She hadalways been too hard on me, she had at last seen the error of herfractious ways, she was sorry and too stubborn to say so. I wasweary from the day's crimes.

　　After supper, Atticus sat down with the paper and called, "Scout,ready to read?" The Lord sent me more than I could bear, and I went tothe front porch. Atticus followed me.

　　"Something wrong, Scout?"I told Atticus I didn't feel very well and didn't think I'd go toschool any more if it was all right with him.

　　Atticus sat down in the swing and crossed his legs. His fingerswandered to his watchpocket; he said that was the only way he couldthink. He waited in amiable silence, and I sought to reinforce myposition: "You never went to school and you do all right, so I'll juststay home too. You can teach me like Granddaddy taught you 'n' UncleJack.""No I can't," said Atticus. "I have to make a living. Besides,they'd put me in jail if I kept you at home- dose of magnesia foryou tonight and school tomorrow.""I'm feeling all right, really.""Thought so. Now what's the matter?"Bit by bit, I told him the day's misfortunes. "-and she said youtaught me all wrong, so we can't ever read any more, ever. Pleasedon't send me back, please sir."Atticus stood up and walked to the end of the porch. When hecompleted his examination of the wisteria vine he strolled back to me.

　　"First of all," he said, "if you can learn a simple trick, Scout,you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You neverreally understand a person until you consider things from his point ofview-""Sir?""-until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."Atticus said I had learned many things today, and Miss Carolinehad learned several things herself. She had learned not to handsomething to a Cunningham, for one thing, but if Walter and I hadput ourselves in her shoes we'd have seen it was an honest mistakeon her part. We could not expect her to learn all Maycomb's ways inone day, and we could not hold her responsible when she knew nobetter.

　　"I'll be dogged," I said. "I didn't know no better than not toread to her, and she held me responsible- listen Atticus, I don't haveto go to school!" I was bursting with a sudden thought. "Burris Ewell,remember? He just goes to school the first day. The truant ladyreckons she's carried out the law when she gets his name on the roll-""You can't do that, Scout," Atticus said. "Sometimes it's betterto bend the law a little in special cases. In your case, the lawremains rigid. So to school you must go.""I don't see why I have to when he doesn't.""Then listen."Atticus said the Ewells had been the disgrace of Maycomb for threegenerations. None of them had done an honest day's work in hisrecollection. He said that some Christmas, when he was getting ridof the tree, he would take me with him and show me where and howthey lived. They were people, but they lived like animals. "They cango to school any time they want to, when they show the faintestsymptom of wanting an education," said Atticus. "There are ways ofkeeping them in school by force, but it's silly to force people likethe Ewells into a new environment-""If I didn't go to school tomorrow, you'd force me to.""Let us leave it at this," said Atticus dryly. "You, Miss ScoutFinch, are of the common folk. You must obey the law." He said thatthe Ewells were members of an exclusive society made up of Ewells.

　　In certain circumstances the common folk judiciously allowed themcertain privileges by the simple method of becoming blind to some ofthe Ewells' activities. They didn't have to go to school, for onething. Another thing, Mr. Bob Ewell, Burris's father, was permitted tohunt and trap out of season.

　　"Atticus, that's bad," I said. In Maycomb County, hunting out ofseason was a misdemeanor at law, a capital felony in the eyes of thepopulace.

　　"It's against the law, all right," said my father, "and it'scertainly bad, but when a man spends his relief checks on greenwhiskey his children have a way of crying from hunger pains. I don'tknow of any landowner around here who begrudges those children anygame their father can hit.""Mr. Ewell shouldn't do that-""Of course he shouldn't, but he'll never change his ways. Are yougoing to take out your disapproval on his children?""No sir," I murmured, and made a final stand: "But if I keep ongoin' to school, we can't ever read any more…""That's really bothering you, isn't it?""Yes sir."When Atticus looked down at me I saw the expression on his face thatalways made me expect something. "Do you know what a compromise is?"he asked.

　　"Bending the law?""No, an agreement reached by mutual concessions. It works this way,"he said. "If you'll concede the necessity of going to school, we'll goon reading every night just as we always have. Is it a bargain?""Yes sir!""We'll consider it sealed without the usual formality," Atticussaid, when he saw me preparing to spit.

　　As I opened the front screen door Atticus said, "By the way,Scout, you'd better not say anything at school about our agreement.""Why not?""I'm afraid our activities would be received with considerabledisapprobation by the more learned authorities."Jem and I were accustomed to our father's last-will-and-testamentdiction, and we were at all times free to interrupt Atticus for atranslation when it was beyond our understanding.

　　"Huh, sir?""I never went to school," he said, "but I have a feeling that if youtell Miss Caroline we read every night she'll get after me, and Iwouldn't want her after me."Atticus kept us in fits that evening, gravely reading columns ofprint about a man who sat on a flagpole for no discernible reason,which was reason enough for Jem to spend the following Saturdayaloft in the treehouse. Jem sat from after breakfast until sunsetand would have remained overnight had not Atticus severed his supplylines. I had spent most of the day climbing up and down, runningerrands for him, providing him with literature, nourishment and water,and was carrying him blankets for the night when Atticus said if Ipaid no attention to him, Jem would come down. Atticus was right.

　　4The remainder of my schooldays were no more auspicious than thefirst. Indeed, they were an endless Project that slowly evolved into aUnit, in which miles of construction paper and wax crayon wereexpended by the State of Alabama in its well-meaning but fruitlessefforts to teach me Group Dynamics. What Jem called the DeweyDecimal System was school-wide by the end of my first year, so I hadno chance to compare it with other teaching techniques. I could onlylook around me: Atticus and my uncle, who went to school at home, kneweverything- at least, what one didn't know the other did. Furthermore,I couldn't help noticing that my father had served for years in thestate legislature, elected each time without opposition, innocent ofthe adjustments my teachers thought essential to the development ofGood Citizenship. Jem, educated on a half-Decimal half-Duncecap basis,seemed to function effectively alone or in a group, but Jem was a poorexample: no tutorial system devised by man could have stopped him fromgetting at books. As for me, I knew nothing except what I gatheredfrom Time magazine and reading everything I could lay hands on athome, but as I inched sluggishly along the treadmill of the MaycombCounty school system, I could not help receiving the impression that Iwas being cheated out of something. Out of what I knew not, yet Idid not believe that twelve years of unrelieved boredom was exactlywhat the state had in mind for me.

　　As the year passed, released from school thirty minutes beforeJem, who had to stay until three o'clock, I ran by the Radley Place asfast as I could, not stopping until I reached the safety of ourfront porch. One afternoon as I raced by, something caught my eyeand caught it in such a way that I took a deep breath, a long lookaround, and went back.

　　Two live oaks stood at the edge of the Radley lot; their rootsreached out into the side-road and made it bumpy. Something aboutone of the trees attracted my attention.

　　Some tinfoil was sticking in a knot-hole just above my eye level,winking at me in the afternoon sun. I stood on tiptoe, hastilylooked around once more, reached into the hole, and withdrew twopieces of chewing gum minus their outer wrappers.

　　My first impulse was to get it into my mouth as quickly as possible,but I remembered where I was. I ran home, and on our front porch Iexamined my loot. The gum looked fresh. I sniffed it and it smelledall right. I licked it and waited for a while. When I did not die Icrammed it into my mouth: Wrigley's Double-Mint.

　　When Jem came home he asked me where I got such a wad. I told himI found it.

　　"Don't eat things you find, Scout.""This wasn't on the ground, it was in a tree."Jem growled.

　　"Well it was," I said. "It was sticking in that tree yonder, the onecomin' from school.""Spit it out right now!"I spat it out. The tang was fading, anyway. "I've been chewin' itall afternoon and I ain't dead yet, not even sick."Jem stamped his foot. "Don't you know you're not supposed to eventouch 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 my mouth.""You don't 'n' I'll tell Calpurnia on you!"Rather than risk a tangle with Calpurnia, I did as Jem told me.

　　For some reason, my first year of school had wrought a great change inour relationship: Calpurnia's tyranny, unfairness, and meddling inmy business had faded to gentle grumblings of general disapproval.

　　On my part, I went to much trouble, sometimes, not to provoke her.

　　Summer was on the way; Jem and I awaited it with impatience.

　　Summer was our best season: it was sleeping on the back screened porchin cots, or trying to sleep in the treehouse; summer was everythinggood to eat; it was a thousand colors in a parched landscape; but mostof all, summer was Dill.

　　The authorities released us early the last day of school, and Jemand I walked home together. "Reckon old Dill'll be coming hometomorrow," I said.

　　"Probably day after," said Jem. "Mis'sippi turns 'em loose a daylater."As we came to the live oaks at the Radley Place I raised my fingerto point for the hundredth time to the knot-hole where I had found thechewing gum, trying to make Jem believe I had found it there, andfound myself pointing at another piece of tinfoil.

　　"I see it, Scout! I see it-"Jem looked around, reached up, and gingerly pocketed a tiny shinypackage. We ran home, and on the front porch we looked at a smallbox patchworked with bits of tinfoil collected from chewing-gumwrappers. It was the kind of box wedding rings came in, purplevelvet with a minute catch. Jem flicked open the tiny catch. Insidewere two scrubbed and polished pennies, one on top of the other. Jemexamined them.

　　"Indian-heads," he said. "Nineteen-six and Scout, one of em'snineteen-hundred. These are real old.""Nineteen-hundred," I echoed. "Say-""Hush a minute, I'm thinkin'.""Jem, you reckon that's somebody's hidin' place?""Naw, don't anybody much but us pass by there, unless it's somegrown person's-""Grown folks don't have hidin' places. You reckon we ought to keep'em, Jem?""I don't know what we could do, Scout. Who'd we give 'em back to?

　　I know for a fact don't anybody go by there- Cecil goes by the backstreet an' all the way around by town to get home."Cecil Jacobs, who lived at the far end of our street next door tothe post office, walked a total of one mile per school day to avoidthe Radley Place and old Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose. Mrs. Duboselived two doors up the street from us; neighborhood opinion wasunanimous that Mrs. Dubose was the meanest old woman who ever lived.

　　Jem wouldn't go by her place without Atticus beside him.

　　"What you reckon we oughta do, Jem?"Finders were keepers unless title was proven. Plucking an occasionalcamellia, getting a squirt of hot milk from Miss Maudie Atkinson's cowon a summer day, helping ourselves to someone's scuppernongs waspart of our ethical culture, but money was different.

　　"Tell you what," said Jem. "We'll keep 'em till school starts,then go around and ask everybody if they're theirs. They're some buschild's, maybe- he was too taken up with gettin' outa school today an'

　　forgot 'em. These are somebody's, I know that. See how they've beenslicked up? They've been saved.""Yeah, but why should somebody wanta put away chewing gum like that?

　　You know it doesn't last.""I don't know, Scout. But these are important to somebody…""How's that, Jem…？""Well, Indian-heads- well, they come from the Indians. They'rereal strong magic, they make you have good luck. Not like friedchicken when you're not lookin' for it, but things like long life'n' good health, 'n' passin' six-weeks tests… these are realvaluable to somebody. I'm gonna put em in my trunk."Before Jem went to his room, he looked for a long time at the RadleyPlace. He seemed to be thinking again.

　　Two days later Dill arrived in a blaze of glory: he had ridden thetrain by himself from Meridian to Maycomb Junction （a courtesytitle- Maycomb Junction was in Abbott County） where he had been met byMiss Rachel in Maycomb's one taxi; he had eaten dinner in the diner,he had seen two twins hitched together get off the train in Bay St.

　　Louis and stuck to his story regardless of threats. He had discardedthe abominable blue shorts that were buttoned to his shirts and worereal short pants with a belt; he was somewhat heavier, no taller,and said he had seen his father. Dill's father was taller than ours,he had a black beard （pointed）， and was president of the L & NRailroad.

　　"I helped the engineer for a while," said Dill, yawning.

　　"In a pig's ear you did, Dill. Hush," said Jem. "What'll we playtoday?""Tom and Sam and Dick," said Dill. "Let's go in the front yard."Dill wanted the Rover Boys because there were three respectable parts.

　　He was clearly tired of being our character man.

　　"I'm tired of those," I said. I was tired of playing Tom Rover,who suddenly lost his memory in the middle of a picture show and wasout of the script until the end, when he was found in Alaska.

　　"Make us up one, Jem," I said.

　　"I'm tired of makin' 'em up."Our first days of freedom, and we were tired. I wondered what thesummer would bring.

　　We had strolled to the front yard, where Dill stood looking down thestreet at the dreary face of the Radley Place. "I- smell- death," hesaid. "I do, I mean it," he said, when I told him to shut up.

　　"You mean when somebody's dyin' you can smell it?""No, I mean I can smell somebody an' tell if they're gonna die. Anold lady taught me how." Dill leaned over and sniffed me. "Jean-Louise- Finch, you are going to die in three days.""Dill if you don't hush I'll knock you bowlegged. I mean it, now-""Yawl hush," growled Jem, "you act like you believe in Hot Steams.""You act like you don't," I said.

　　"What's a Hot Steam?" asked Dill.

　　"Haven't you ever walked along a lonesome road at night and passedby a hot place?" Jem asked Dill. "A Hot Steam's somebody who can't getto heaven, just wallows around on lonesome roads an' if you walkthrough him, when you die you'll be one too, an' you'll go around atnight suckin' people's breath-""How can you keep from passing through one?""You can't," said Jem. "Sometimes they stretch all the way acrossthe road, but if you hafta go through one you say, 'Angel-bright,life-in-death; get off the road, don't suck my breath.' That keeps 'emfrom wrapping around you-""Don't you believe a word he says, Dill," I said. "Calpurnia saysthat's nigger-talk."Jem scowled darkly at me, but said, "Well, are we gonna playanything or not?""Let's roll in the tire," I suggested.

　　Jem sighed. "You know I'm too big.""You c'n push."I ran to the back yard and pulled an old car tire from under thehouse. I slapped it up to the front yard. "I'm first," I said.

　　Dill said he ought to be first, he just got here.

　　Jem arbitrated, awarded me first push with an extra time for Dill,and I folded myself inside the tire.

　　Until it happened I did not realize that Jem was offended by mycontradicting him on Hot Steams, and that he was patiently awaiting anopportunity to reward me. He did, by pushing the tire down thesidewalk with all the force in his body. Ground, sky and houses meltedinto a mad palette, my ears throbbed, I was suffocating. I could notput out my hands to stop, they were wedged between my chest and knees.

　　I could only hope that Jem would outrun the tire and me, or that Iwould be stopped by a bump in the sidewalk. I heard him behind me,chasing and shouting.

　　The tire bumped on gravel, skeetered across the road, crashed into abarrier and popped me like a cork onto pavement. Dizzy andnauseated, I lay on the cement and shook my head still, pounded myears to silence, and heard Jem's voice: "Scout, get away from there,come on!"I raised my head and stared at the Radley Place steps in front ofme. I froze.

　　"Come on, Scout, don't just lie there!" Jem was screaming. "Getup, can'tcha?"I got to my feet, trembling as I thawed.

　　"Get the tire!" Jem hollered. "Bring it with you! Ain't you gotany sense at all?"When I was able to navigate, I ran back to them as fast as myshaking knees would carry me.

　　"Why didn't you bring it?" Jem yelled.

　　"Why don't you get it?" I screamed.

　　Jem was silent.

　　"Go on, it ain't far inside the gate. Why, you even touched thehouse once, remember?"Jem looked at me furiously, could not decline, ran down thesidewalk, treaded water at the gate, then dashed in and retrievedthe tire.

　　"See there?" Jem was scowling triumphantly. "Nothin' to it. I swear,Scout, sometimes you act so much like a girl it's mortifyin'."There was more to it than he knew, but I decided not to tell him.

　　Calpurnia appeared in the front door and yelled, "Lemonade time! Youall get in outa that hot sun 'fore you fry alive!" Lemonade in themiddle of the morning was a summertime ritual. Calpurnia set a pitcherand three glasses on the porch, then went about her business. Beingout of Jem's good graces did not worry me especially. Lemonade wouldrestore his good humor.

　　Jem gulped down his second glassful and slapped his chest. "I knowwhat we are going to play," he announced. "Something new, somethingdifferent.""What?" asked Dill.

　　"Boo Radley."Jem's head at times was transparent: he had thought that up tomake me understand he wasn't afraid of Radleys in any shape or form,to contrast his own fearless heroism with my cowardice.

　　"Boo Radley? How?" asked Dill.

　　Jem said, "Scout, you can be Mrs. Radley-""I declare if I will. I don't think-""'Smatter?" said Dill. "Still scared?""He can get out at night when we're all asleep…" I said.

　　Jem hissed. "Scout, how's he gonna know what we're doin'? Besides, Idon't think he's still there. He died years ago and they stuffed himup the chimney."Dill said, "Jem, you and me can play and Scout can watch if she'sscared."I was fairly sure Boo Radley was inside that house, but I couldn'tprove it, and felt it best to keep my mouth shut or I would be accusedof believing in Hot Steams, phenomena I was immune to in the daytime.

　　Jem parceled out our roles: I was Mrs. Radley, and all I had to dowas come out and sweep the porch. Dill was old Mr. Radley: he walkedup and down the sidewalk and coughed when Jem spoke to him. Jem,naturally, was Boo: he went under the front steps and shrieked andhowled from time to time.

　　As the summer progressed, so did our game. We polished and perfectedit, added dialogue and plot until we had manufactured a small playupon which we rang changes every day.

　　Dill was a villain's villain: he could get into any character partassigned him, and appear tall if height was part of the devilryrequired. He was as good as his worst performance; his worstperformance was Gothic. I reluctantly played assorted ladies whoentered the script. I never thought it as much fun as Tarzan, and Iplayed that summer with more than vague anxiety despite Jem'sassurances that Boo Radley was dead and nothing would get me, with himand Calpurnia there in the daytime and Atticus home at night.

　　Jem was a born hero.

　　It was a melancholy little drama, woven from bits and scraps ofgossip and neighborhood legend: Mrs. Radley had been beautiful untilshe married Mr. Radley and lost all her money. She also lost most ofher teeth, her hair, and her right forefinger （Dill's contribution.

　　Boo bit it off one night when he couldn't find any cats andsquirrels to eat.）； she sat in the livingroom and cried most of thetime, while Boo slowly whittled away all the furniture in the house.

　　The three of us were the boys who got into trouble; I was theprobate judge, for a change; Dill led Jem away and crammed him beneaththe steps, poking him with the brushbroom. Jem would reappear asneeded in the shapes of the sheriff, assorted townsfolk, and MissStephanie Crawford, who had more to say about the Radleys than anybodyin Maycomb.

　　When it was time to play Boo's big scene, Jem would sneak into thehouse, steal the scissors from the sewing-machine drawer whenCalpurnia's back was turned, then sit in the swing and cut upnewspapers. Dill would walk by, cough at Jem, and Jem would fake aplunge into Dill's thigh. From where I stood it looked real.

　　When Mr. Nathan Radley passed us on his daily trip to town, we wouldstand still and silent until he was out of sight, then wonder whathe would do to us if he suspected. Our activities halted when any ofthe neighbors appeared, and once I saw Miss Maudie Atkinson staringacross the street at us, her hedge clippers poised in midair.

　　One day we were so busily playing Chapter XXV, Book II of OneMan's Family, we did not see Atticus standing on the sidewalklooking at us, slapping a rolled magazine against his knee. The sunsaid twelve noon.

　　"What are you all playing?" he asked.

　　"Nothing," said Jem.

　　Jem's evasion told me our game was a secret, so I kept quiet.

　　"What are you doing with those scissors, then? Why are you tearingup that newspaper? If it's today's I'll tan you.""Nothing.""Nothing what?" said Atticus.

　　"Nothing, sir.""Give me those scissors," Atticus said. "They're no things to playwith. Does this by any chance have anything to do with the Radleys?""No sir," said Jem, reddening.

　　"I hope it doesn't," he said shortly, and went inside the house.

　　"Je-m…""Shut up! He's gone in the livingroom, he can hear us in there."Safely in the yard, Dill asked Jem if we could play any more.

　　"I don't know. Atticus didn't say we couldn't-""Jem," I said, "I think Atticus knows it anyway.""No he don't. If he did he'd say he did."I was not so sure, but Jem told me I was being a girl, that girlsalways imagined things, that's why other people hated them so, andif I started behaving like one I could just go off and find some toplay with.

　　"All right, you just keep it up then," I said. "You'll find out."Atticus's arrival was the second reason I wanted to quit the game.

　　The first reason happened the day I rolled into the Radley front yard.

　　Through all the head-shaking, quelling of nausea and Jem-yelling, Ihad heard another sound, so low I could not have heard it from thesidewalk. Someone inside the house was laughing.

　　5My nagging got the better of Jem eventually, as I knew it would, andto my relief we slowed down the game for a while. He still maintained,however, that Atticus hadn't said we couldn't, therefore we could; andif Atticus ever said we couldn't, Jem had thought of a way aroundit: he would simply change the names of the characters and then wecouldn't be accused of playing anything.

　　Dill was in hearty agreement with this plan of action. Dill wasbecoming something of a trial anyway, following Jem about. He hadasked me earlier in the summer to marry him, then he promptly forgotabout it. He staked me out, marked as his property, said I was theonly girl he would ever love, then he neglected me. I beat him uptwice but it did no good, he only grew closer to Jem. They spentdays together in the treehouse plotting and planning, calling meonly when they needed a third party. But I kept aloof from theirmore foolhardy schemes for a while, and on pain of being called agirl, I spent most of the remaining twilights that summer sitting withMiss Maudie Atkinson on her front porch.

　　Jem and I had always enjoyed the free run of Miss Maudie's yard ifwe kept out of her azaleas, but our contact with her was not clearlydefined. Until Jem and Dill excluded me from their plans, she was onlyanother lady in the neighborhood, but a relatively benign presence.

　　Our tacit treaty with Miss Maudie was that we could play on herlawn, eat her scuppernongs if we didn't jump on the arbor, and exploreher vast back lot, terms so generous we seldom spoke to her, socareful were we to preserve the delicate balance of ourrelationship, but Jem and Dill drove me closer to her with theirbehavior.

　　Miss Maudie hated her house: time spent indoors was time wasted. Shewas a widow, a chameleon lady who worked in her flower beds in anold straw hat and men's coveralls, but after her five o'clock bath shewould appear on the porch and reign over the street in magisterialbeauty.

　　She loved everything that grew in God's earth, even the weeds.

　　With one exception. If she found a blade of nut grass in her yard itwas like the Second Battle of the Marne: she swooped down upon it witha tin tub and subjected it to blasts from beneath with a poisonoussubstance she said was so powerful it'd kill us all if we didn't standout of the way.

　　"Why can't you just pull it up?" I asked, after witnessing aprolonged campaign against a blade not three inches high.

　　"Pull it up, child, pull it up?" She picked up the limp sprout andsqueezed her thumb up its tiny stalk. Microscopic grains oozed out.

　　"Why, one sprig of nut grass can ruin a whole yard. Look here. When itcomes fall this dries up and the wind blows it all over MaycombCounty!" Miss Maudie's face likened such an occurrence unto an OldTestament pestilence.

　　Her speech was crisp for a Maycomb County inhabitant. She calledus by all our names, and when she grinned she revealed two minute goldprongs clipped to her eyeteeth. When I admired them and hoped Iwould have some eventually, she said, "Look here." With a click of hertongue she thrust out her bridgework, a gesture of cordiality thatcemented our friendship.

　　Miss Maudie's benevolence extended to Jem and Dill, whenever theypaused in their pursuits: we reaped the benefits of a talent MissMaudie had hitherto kept hidden from us. She made the best cakes inthe neighborhood. When she was admitted into our confidence, everytime she baked she made a big cake and three little ones, and shewould call across the street: "Jem Finch, Scout Finch, Charles BakerHarris, come here!" Our promptness was always rewarded.

　　In summertime, twilights are long and peaceful. Often as not, MissMaudie and I would sit silently on her porch, watching the sky go fromyellow to pink as the sun went down, watching flights of martins sweeplow over the neighborhood and disappear behind the schoolhouserooftops.

　　"Miss Maudie," I said one evening, "do you think Boo Radley'sstill alive?""His name's Arthur and he's alive," she said. She was rocking slowlyin her big oak chair. "Do you smell my mimosa? It's like angels'

　　breath this evening.""Yessum. How do you know?""Know what, child?""That B- Mr. Arthur's still alive?""What a morbid question. But I suppose it's a morbid subject. I knowhe's alive, Jean Louise, because I haven't seen him carried out yet.""Maybe he died and they stuffed him up the chimney.""Where did you get such a notion?""That's what Jem said he thought they did.""S-ss-ss. He gets more like Jack Finch every day."Miss Maudie had known Uncle Jack Finch, Atticus's brother, sincethey were children. Nearly the same age, they had grown up together atFinch's Landing. Miss Maudie was the daughter of a neighboringlandowner, Dr. Frank Buford. Dr. Buford's profession was medicineand his obsession was anything that grew in the ground, so he stayedpoor. Uncle Jack Finch confined his passion for digging to hiswindow boxes in Nashville and stayed rich. We saw Uncle Jack everyChristmas, and every Christmas he yelled across the street for MissMaudie to come marry him. Miss Maudie would yell back, "Call alittle louder, Jack Finch, and they'll hear you at the post office,I haven't heard you yet!" Jem and I thought this a strange way toask for a lady's hand in marriage, but then Uncle Jack was ratherstrange. He said he was trying to get Miss Maudie's goat, that hehad been trying unsuccessfully for forty years, that he was the lastperson in the world Miss Maudie would think about marrying but thefirst person she thought about teasing, and the best defense to herwas spirited offense, all of which we understood clearly.

　　"Arthur Radley just stays in the house, that's all," said MissMaudie. "Wouldn't you stay in the house if you didn't want to comeout?""Yessum, but I'd wanta come out. Why doesn't he?"Miss Maudie's eyes narrowed. "You know that story as well as I do.""I never heard why, though. Nobody ever told me why."Miss Maudie settled her bridgework. "You know old Mr. Radley was afoot-washing Baptist-""That's what you are, ain't it?""My shell's not that hard, child. I'm just a Baptist.""Don't you all believe in foot-washing?""We do. At home in the bathtub.""But we can't have communion with you all-"Apparently deciding that it was easier to define primitive baptistrythan closed communion, Miss Maudie said: "Foot-washers believeanything that's pleasure is a sin. Did you know some of 'em came outof the woods one Saturday and passed by this place and told me meand my flowers were going to hell?""Your flowers, too?""Yes ma'am. They'd burn right with me. They thought I spent too muchtime in God's outdoors and not enough time inside the house readingthe Bible."My confidence in pulpit Gospel lessened at the vision of Miss Maudiestewing forever in various Protestant hells. True enough, she had anacid tongue in her head, and she did not go about the neighborhooddoing good, as did Miss Stephanie Crawford. But while no one with agrain of sense trusted Miss Stephanie, Jem and I had considerablefaith in Miss Maudie. She had never told on us, had never playedcat-and-mouse with us, she was not at all interested in our privatelives. She was our friend. How so reasonable a creature could livein peril of everlasting torment was incomprehensible.

　　"That ain't right, Miss Maudie. You're the best lady I know."Miss Maudie grinned. "Thank you ma'am. Thing is, foot-washersthink women are a sin by definition. They take the Bible literally,you know.""Is that why Mr. Arthur stays in the house, to keep away fromwomen?""I've no idea.""It doesn't make sense to me. Looks like if Mr. Arthur was hankerin'

　　after heaven he'd come out on the porch at least. Atticus says God'sloving folks like you love yourself-"Miss Maudie stopped rocking, and her voice hardened. "You are tooyoung to understand it," she said, "but sometimes the Bible in thehand of one man is worse than a whiskey bottle in the hand of- oh,of your father."I was shocked. "Atticus doesn't drink whiskey," I said. "He neverdrunk a drop in his life- nome, yes he did. He said he drank someone time and didn't like it."Miss Maudie laughed. "Wasn't talking about your father," she said.

　　"What I meant was, if Atticus Finch drank until he was drunk hewouldn't be as hard as some men are at their best. There are just somekind of men who- who're so busy worrying about the next worldthey've never learned to live in this one, and you can look down thestreet and see the results.""Do you think they're true, all those things they say about B- Mr.

　　Arthur?""What things?"I told her.

　　"That is three-fourths colored folks and one-fourth StephanieCrawford," said Miss Maudie grimly. "Stephanie Crawford even told meonce she woke up in the middle of the night and found him looking inthe window at her. I said what did you do, Stephanie, move over in thebed and make room for him? That shut her up a while."I was sure it did. Miss Maudie's voice was enough to shut anybodyup.

　　"No, child," she said, "that is a sad house. I remember ArthurRadley when he was a boy. He always spoke nicely to me, no matter whatfolks said he did. Spoke as nicely as he knew how.""You reckon he's crazy?"Miss Maudie shook her head. "If he's not he should be by now. Thethings that happen to people we never really know. What happens inhouses behind closed doors, what secrets-""Atticus don't ever do anything to Jem and me in the house that hedon't do in the yard," I said, feeling it my duty to defend my parent.

　　"Gracious child, I was raveling a thread, wasn't even thinking aboutyour father, but now that I am I'll say this: Atticus Finch is thesame in his house as he is on the public streets. How'd you likesome fresh poundcake to take home?"I liked it very much.

　　Next morning when I awakened I found Jem and Dill in the back yarddeep in conversation. When I joined them, as usual they said go away.

　　"Will not. This yard's as much mine as it is yours, Jem Finch. I gotjust as much right to play in it as you have."Dill and Jem emerged from a brief huddle: "If you stay you've got todo what we tell you," Dill warned.

　　"We-ll," I said, "who's so high and mighty all of a sudden?""If you don't say you'll do what we tell you, we ain't gonna tellyou anything," Dill continued.

　　"You act like you grew ten inches in the night! All right, what isit?"Jem said placidly, "We are going to give a note to Boo Radley.""Just how?" I was trying to fight down the automatic terror risingin me. It was all right for Miss Maudie to talk- she was old andsnug on her porch. It was different for us.

　　Jem was merely going to put the note on the end of a fishing poleand stick it through the shutters. If anyone came along, Dill wouldring the bell.

　　Dill raised his right hand. In it was my mother's silverdinner-bell.

　　"I'm goin' around to the side of the house," said Jem. "We lookedyesterday from across the street, and there's a shutter loose. Thinkmaybe I can make it stick on the window sill, at least.""Jem-""Now you're in it and you can't get out of it, you'll just stay init, Miss Priss!""Okay, okay, but I don't wanta watch. Jem, somebody was-""Yes you will, you'll watch the back end of the lot and Dill's gonnawatch the front of the house an' up the street, an' if anybody comeshe'll ring the bell. That clear?""All right then. What'd you write him?"Dill said, "We're askin' him real politely to come out sometimes,and tell us what he does in there- we said we wouldn't hurt him andwe'd buy him an ice cream.""You all've gone crazy, he'll kill us!"Dill said, "It's my idea. I figure if he'd come out and sit aspell with us he might feel better.""How do you know he don't feel good?""Well how'd you feel if you'd been shut up for a hundred yearswith nothin' but cats to eat? I bet he's got a beard down to here-""Like your daddy's?""He ain't got a beard, he-" Dill stopped, as if trying to remember.

　　"Uh huh, caughtcha," I said. "You said 'fore you were off thetrain good your daddy had a black beard-""If it's all the same to you he shaved it off last summer! Yeah, an'

　　I've got the letter to prove it- he sent me two dollars, too!""Keep on- I reckon he even sent you a mounted police uniform! That'nnever showed up, did it? You just keep on tellin' 'em, son-"Dill Harris could tell the biggest ones I ever heard. Among otherthings, he had been up in a mail plane seventeen times, he had been toNova Scotia, he had seen an elephant, and his granddaddy was BrigadierGeneral Joe Wheeler and left him his sword.

　　"You all hush," said Jem. He scuttled beneath the house and came outwith a yellow bamboo pole. "Reckon this is long enough to reach fromthe sidewalk?""Anybody who's brave enough to go up and touch the house hadn'toughta use a fishin' pole," I said. "Why don't you just knock thefront door down?""This- is- different," said Jem, "how many times do I have to tellyou that?"Dill took a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Jem. Thethree of us walked cautiously toward the old house. Dill remained atthe light-pole on the front corner of the lot, and Jem and I edgeddown the sidewalk parallel to the side of the house. I walked beyondJem and stood where I could see around the curve.

　　"All clear," I said. "Not a soul in sight."Jem looked up the sidewalk to Dill, who nodded.

　　Jem attached the note to the end of the fishing pole, let the poleout across the yard and pushed it toward the window he had selected.

　　The pole lacked several inches of being long enough, and Jem leanedover as far as he could. I watched him making jabbing motions for solong, I abandoned my post and went to him.

　　"Can't get it off the pole," he muttered, "or if I got it off Ican't make it stay. G'on back down the street, Scout."I returned and gazed around the curve at the empty road.

　　Occasionally I looked back at Jem, who was patiently trying to placethe note on the window sill. It would flutter to the ground and Jemwould jab it up, until I thought if Boo Radley ever received it hewouldn't be able to read it. I was looking down the street when thedinner-bell rang.

　　Shoulder up, I reeled around to face Boo Radley and his bloodyfangs; instead, I saw Dill ringing the bell with all his might inAtticus's face.

　　Jem looked so awful I didn't have the heart to tell him I told himso. He trudged along, dragging the pole behind him on the sidewalk.

　　Atticus said, "Stop ringing that bell."Dill grabbed the clapper; in the silence that followed, I wishedhe'd start ringing it again. Atticus pushed his hat to the back of hishead and put his hands on his hips. "Jem," he said, "what were youdoing?""Nothin', sir.""I don't want any of that. Tell me.""I was- we were just tryin' to give somethin' to Mr. Radley.""What were you trying to give him?""Just a letter.""Let me see it."Jem held out a filthy piece of paper. Atticus took it and tried toread it. "Why do you want Mr. Radley to come out?"Dill said, "We thought he might enjoy us…" and dried up whenAtticus looked at him.

　　"Son," he said to Jem, "I'm going to tell you something and tell youone time: stop tormenting that man. That goes for the other two ofyou."What Mr. Radley did was his own business. If he wanted to comeout, he would. If he wanted to stay inside his own house he had theright to stay inside free from the attentions of inquisitive children,which was a mild term for the likes of us. How would we like it ifAtticus barged in on us without knocking, when we were in our rooms atnight? We were, in effect, doing the same thing to Mr. Radley. WhatMr. Radley did might seem peculiar to us, but it did not seem peculiarto him. Furthermore, had it never occurred to us that the civil way tocommunicate with another being was by the front door instead of a sidewindow? Lastly, we were to stay away from that house until we wereinvited there, we were not to play an asinine game he had seen usplaying or make fun of anybody on this street or in this town-"We weren't makin' fun of him, we weren't laughin' at him," saidJem, "we were just-""So that was what you were doing, wasn't it?""Makin' fun of him?""No," said Atticus, "putting his life's history on display for theedification of the neighborhood."Jem seemed to swell a little. "I didn't say we were doin' that, Ididn't say it!"Atticus grinned dryly. "You just told me," he said. "You stop thisnonsense right now, every one of you."Jem gaped at him.

　　"You want to be a lawyer, don't you?" Our father's mouth wassuspiciously firm, as if he were trying to hold it in line.

　　Jem decided there was no point in quibbling, and was silent. WhenAtticus went inside the house to retrieve a file he had forgotten totake to work that morning, Jem finally realized that he had beendone in by the oldest lawyer's trick on record. He waited a respectfuldistance from the front steps, watched Atticus leave the house andwalk toward town. When Atticus was out of earshot Jem yelled afterhim: "I thought I wanted to be a lawyer but I ain't so sure now!"6"Yes," said our father, when Jem asked him if we could go over andsit by Miss Rachel's fishpool with Dill, as this was his last night inMaycomb. "Tell him so long for me, and we'll see him next summer."We leaped over the low wall that separated Miss Rachel's yard fromour driveway. Jem whistled bob-white and Dill answered in thedarkness.

　　"Not a breath blowing," said Jem. "Looka yonder."He pointed to the east. A gigantic moon was rising behind MissMaudie's pecan trees. "That makes it seem hotter," he said.

　　"Cross in it tonight?" asked Dill, not looking up. He wasconstructing a cigarette from newspaper and string.

　　"No, just the lady. Don't light that thing, Dill, you'll stink upthis whole end of town."There was a lady in the moon in Maycomb. She sat at a dressercombing her hair.

　　"We're gonna miss you, boy," I said. "Reckon we better watch for Mr.

　　Avery?"Mr. Avery boarded across the street from Mrs. Henry LafayetteDubose's house. Besides making change in the collection plate everySunday, Mr. Avery sat on the porch every night until nine o'clockand sneezed. One evening we were privileged to witness a performanceby him which seemed to have been his positively last, for he never didit again so long as we watched. Jem and I were leaving Miss Rachel'sfront steps one night when Dill stopped us: "Golly, looka yonder."He pointed across the street. At first we saw nothing but akudzu-covered front porch, but a closer inspection revealed an arcof water descending from the leaves and splashing in the yellow circleof the street light, some ten feet from source to earth, it seemedto us. Jem said Mr. Avery misfigured, Dill said he must drink a gallona day, and the ensuing contest to determine relative distances andrespective prowess only made me feel left out again, as I wasuntalented in this area.

　　Dill stretched, yawned, and said altogether too casually. "I knowwhat, let's go for a walk."He sounded fishy to me. Nobody in Maycomb just went for a walk.

　　"Where to, Dill?"Dill jerked his head in a southerly direction.

　　Jem said, "Okay." When I protested, he said sweetly, "You don't haveto come along, Angel May.""You don't have to go. Remember-"Jem was not one to dwell on past defeats: it seemed the only messagehe got from Atticus was insight into the art of cross examination.

　　"Scout, we ain't gonna do anything, we're just goin' to the streetlight and back."We strolled silently down the sidewalk, listening to porch swingscreaking with the weight of the neighborhood, listening to the softnight-murmurs of the grown people on our street. Occasionally we heardMiss Stephanie Crawford laugh.

　　"Well?" said Dill.

　　"Okay," said Jem. "Why don't you go on home, Scout?""What are you gonna do?"Dill and Jem were simply going to peep in the window with theloose shutter to see if they could get a look at Boo Radley, and ifI didn't want to go with them I could go straight home and keep my fatflopping mouth shut, that was all.

　　"But what in the sam holy hill did you wait till tonight?"Because nobody could see them at night, because Atticus would beso deep in a book he wouldn't hear the Kingdom coming, because ifBoo Radley killed them they'd miss school instead of vacation, andbecause it was easier to see inside a dark house in the dark than inthe daytime, did I understand?

　　"Jem, please-""Scout, I'm tellin' you for the last time, shut your trap or gohome- I declare to the Lord you're gettin' more like a girl everyday!"With that, I had no option but to join them. We thought it wasbetter to go under the high wire fence at the rear of the Radleylot, we stood less chance of being seen. The fence enclosed a largegarden and a narrow wooden outhouse.

　　Jem held up the bottom wire and motioned Dill under it. Ifollowed, and held up the wire for Jem. It was a tight squeeze forhim. "Don't make a sound," he whispered. "Don't get in a row ofcollards whatever you do, they'll wake the dead."With this thought in mind, I made perhaps one step per minute. Imoved faster when I saw Jem far ahead beckoning in the moonlight. Wecame to the gate that divided the garden from the back yard. Jemtouched it. The gate squeaked.

　　"Spit on it," whispered Dill.

　　"You've got us in a box, Jem," I muttered. "We can't get out of hereso easy.""Sh-h. Spit on it, Scout."We spat ourselves dry, and Jem opened the gate slowly, lifting itaside and resting it on the fence. We were in the back yard.

　　The back of the Radley house was less inviting than the front: aramshackle porch ran the width of the house; there were two doorsand two dark windows between the doors. Instead of a column, a roughtwo-by-four supported one end of the roof. An old Franklin stove satin a corner of the porch; above it a hat-rack mirror caught the moonand shone eerily.

　　"Ar-r," said Jem softly, lifting his foot.

　　"'Smatter?""Chickens," he breathed.

　　That we would be obliged to dodge the unseen from all directions wasconfirmed when Dill ahead of us spelled G-o-d in a whisper. We creptto the side of the house, around to the window with the hangingshutter. The sill was several inches taller than Jem.

　　"Give you a hand up," he muttered to Dill. "Wait, though." Jemgrabbed his left wrist and my right wrist, I grabbed my left wrist andJem's right wrist, we crouched, and Dill sat on our saddle. Weraised him and he caught the window sill.

　　"Hurry," Jem whispered, "we can't last much longer."Dill punched my shoulder, and we lowered him to the ground.

　　"What'd you see?""Nothing. Curtains. There's a little teeny light way offsomewhere, though.""Let's get away from here," breathed Jem. "Let's go 'round in backagain. Sh-h," he warned me, as I was about to protest.

　　"Let's try the back window.""Dill, no," I said.

　　Dill stopped and let Jem go ahead. When Jem put his foot on thebottom step, the step squeaked. He stood still, then tried hisweight by degrees. The step was silent. Jem skipped two steps, put hisfoot on the porch, heaved himself to it, and teetered a long moment.

　　He regained his balance and dropped to his knees. He crawled to thewindow, raised his head and looked in.

　　Then I saw the shadow. It was the shadow of a man with a hat on.

　　At first I thought it was a tree, but there was no wind blowing, andtree-trunks never walked. The back porch was bathed in moonlight,and the shadow, crisp as toast, moved across the porch toward Jem.

　　Dill saw it next. He put his hands to his face.

　　When it crossed Jem, Jem saw it. He put his arms over his head andwent rigid.

　　The shadow stopped about a foot beyond Jem. Its arm came out fromits side, dropped, and was still. Then it turned and moved back acrossJem, walked along the porch and off the side of the house, returningas it had come.

　　Jem leaped off the porch and galloped toward us. He flung open thegate, danced Dill and me through, and shooed us between two rows ofswishing collards. Halfway through the collards I tripped; as Itripped the roar of a shotgun shattered the neighborhood.

　　Dill and Jem dived beside me. Jem's breath came in sobs: "Fence bythe schoolyard!- hurry, Scout!"Jem held the bottom wire; Dill and I rolled through and were halfwayto the shelter of the schoolyard's solitary oak when we sensed thatJem was not with us. We ran back and found him struggling in thefence, kicking his pants off to get loose. He ran to the oak tree inhis shorts.

　　Safely behind it, we gave way to numbness, but Jem's mind wasracing: "We gotta get home, they'll miss us."We ran across the schoolyard, crawled under the fence to Deer'sPasture behind our house, climbed our back fence and were at theback steps before Jem would let us pause to rest.

　　Respiration normal, the three of us strolled as casually as we couldto the front yard. We looked down the street and saw a circle ofneighbors at the Radley front gate.

　　"We better go down there," said Jem. "They'll think it's funny if wedon't show up."Mr. Nathan Radley was standing inside his gate, a shotgun brokenacross his arm. Atticus was standing beside Miss Maudie and MissStephanie Crawford. Miss Rachel and Mr. Avery were near by. None ofthem saw us come up.

　　We eased in beside Miss Maudie, who looked around. "Where were youall, didn't you hear the commotion?""What happened?" asked Jem.

　　"Mr. Radley shot at a Negro in his collard patch.""Oh. Did he hit him?""No," said Miss Stephanie. "Shot in the air. Scared him pale,though. Says if anybody sees a white nigger around, that's the one.

　　Says he's got the other barrel waitin' for the next sound he hearsin that patch, an' next time he won't aim high, be it dog, nigger, or-Jem Finch!""Ma'am?" asked Jem.

　　Atticus spoke. "Where're your pants, son?""Pants, sir?""Pants."It was no use. In his shorts before God and everybody. I sighed.

　　"Ah- Mr. Finch?"In the glare from the streetlight, I could see Dill hatching one:

　　his eyes widened, his fat cherub face grew rounder.

　　"What is it, Dill?" asked Atticus.

　　"Ah- I won 'em from him," he said vaguely.

　　"Won them? How?"Dill's hand sought the back of his head. He brought it forward andacross his forehead. "We were playin' strip poker up yonder by thefishpool," he said.

　　Jem and I relaxed. The neighbors seemed satisfied: they allstiffened. But what was strip poker?

　　We had no chance to find out: Miss Rachel went off like the townfire siren: "Do-o-o Jee-sus, Dill Harris! Gamblin' by my fishpool?

　　I'll strip-poker you, sir!"Atticus saved Dill from immediate dismemberment. "Just a minute,Miss Rachel," he said. "I've never heard of 'em doing that before.

　　Were you all playing cards?"Jem fielded Dill's fly with his eyes shut: "No sir, just withmatches."I admired my brother. Matches were dangerous, but cards were fatal.

　　"Jem, Scout," said Atticus, "I don't want to hear of poker in anyform again. Go by Dill's and get your pants, Jem. Settle ityourselves.""Don't worry, Dill," said Jem, as we trotted up the sidewalk, "sheain't gonna get you. He'll talk her out of it. That was fast thinkin',son. Listen… you hear?"We stopped, and heard Atticus's voice: "…not serious… they allgo through it, Miss Rachel…"Dill was comforted, but Jem and I weren't. There was the problemof Jem showing up some pants in the morning.

　　"'d give you some of mine," said Dill, as we came to Miss Rachel'ssteps. Jem said he couldn't get in them, but thanks anyway. We saidgood-bye, and Dill went inside the house. He evidently remembered hewas engaged to me, for he ran back out and kissed me swiftly infront of Jem. "Yawl write, hear?" he bawled after us.

　　Had Jem's pants been safely on him, we would not have slept muchanyway. Every night-sound I heard from my cot on the back porch wasmagnified three-fold; every scratch of feet on gravel was Boo Radleyseeking revenge, every passing Negro laughing in the night was BooRadley loose and after us; insects splashing against the screen wereBoo Radley's insane fingers picking the wire to pieces; the chinaberrytrees were malignant, hovering, alive. I lingered between sleep andwakefulness until I heard Jem murmur.

　　"Sleep, Little Three-Eyes?""Are you crazy?""Sh-h. Atticus's light's out."In the waning moonlight I saw Jem swing his feet to the floor.

　　"I'm goin' after 'em," he said.

　　I sat upright. "You can't. I won't let you."He was struggling into his shirt. "I've got to.""You do an' I'll wake up Atticus.""You do and I'll kill you."I pulled him down beside me on the cot. I tried to reason withhim. "Mr. Nathan's gonna find 'em in the morning, Jem. He knows youlost 'em. When he shows 'em to Atticus it'll be pretty bad, that's allthere is to it. Go'n back to bed.""That's what I know," said Jem. "That's why I'm goin' after 'em."I began to feel sick. Going back to that place by himself- Iremembered Miss Stephanie: Mr. Nathan had the other barrel waiting forthe next sound he heard, be it nigger, dog… Jem knew that betterthan I.

　　I was desperate: "Look, it ain't worth it, Jem. A lickin' hurtsbut it doesn't last. You'll get your head shot off, Jem. Please…"He blew out his breath patiently. "I- it's like this, Scout," hemuttered. "Atticus ain't ever whipped me since I can remember. I wantakeep it that way."This was a thought. It seemed that Atticus threatened us every otherday. "You mean he's never caught you at anything.""Maybe so, but- I just wanta keep it that way, Scout. We shouldn'adone that tonight, Scout."It was then, I suppose, that Jem and I first began to partcompany. Sometimes I did not understand him, but my periods ofbewilderment were short-lived. This was beyond me. "Please," Ipleaded, "can'tcha just think about it for a minute- by yourself onthat place-""Shut up!""It's not like he'd never speak to you again or somethin'… I'mgonna wake him up, Jem, I swear I am-"Jem grabbed my pajama collar and wrenched it tight. "Then I'mgoin' with you-" I choked.

　　"No you ain't, you'll just make noise."It was no use. I unlatched the back door and held it while hecrept down the steps. It must have been two o'clock. The moon wassetting and the lattice-work shadows were fading into fuzzynothingness. Jem's white shirt-tail dipped and bobbed like a smallghost dancing away to escape the coming morning. A faint breezestirred and cooled the sweat running down my sides.

　　He went the back way, through Deer's Pasture, across theschoolyard and around to the fence, I thought- at least that was theway he was headed. It would take longer, so it was not time to worryyet. I waited until it was time to worry and listened for Mr. Radley'sshotgun. Then I thought I heard the back fence squeak. It waswishful thinking.

　　Then I heard Atticus cough. I held my breath. Sometimes when we madea midnight pilgrimage to the bathroom we would find him reading. Hesaid he often woke up during the night, checked on us, and readhimself back to sleep. I waited for his light to go on, straining myeyes to see it flood the hall. It stayed off, and I breathed again.

　　The night-crawlers had retired, but ripe chinaberries drummed on theroof when the wind stirred, and the darkness was desolate with thebarking of distant dogs.

　　There he was, returning to me. His white shirt bobbed over theback fence and slowly grew larger. He came up the back steps,latched the door behind him, and sat on his cot. Wordlessly, he heldup his pants. He lay down, and for a while I heard his cottrembling. Soon he was still. I did not hear him stir again.

　　7Jem stayed moody and silent for a week. As Atticus had onceadvised me to do, I tried to climb into Jem's skin and walk aroundin it: if I had gone alone to the Radley Place at two in themorning, my funeral would have been held the next afternoon. So I leftJem alone and tried not to bother him.

　　School started. The second grade was as bad as the first, onlyworse- they still flashed cards at you and wouldn't let you read orwrite. Miss Caroline's progress next door could be estimated by thefrequency of laughter; however, the usual crew had flunked the firstgrade again, and were helpful in keeping order. The only thing goodabout the second grade was that this year I had to stay as late asJem, and we usually walked home together at three o'clock.

　　One afternoon when we were crossing the schoolyard toward home,Jem suddenly said: "There's something I didn't tell you."As this was his first complete sentence in several days, Iencouraged him: "About what?""About that night.""You've never told me anything about that night," I said.

　　Jem waved my words away as if fanning gnats. He was silent for awhile, then he said, "When I went back for my breeches- they wereall in a tangle when I was gettin' out of 'em, I couldn't get 'emloose. When I went back-" Jem took a deep breath. "When I went back,they were folded across the fence… like they were expectin' me.""Across-""And something else-" Jem's voice was flat. "Show you when we gethome. They'd been sewed up. Not like a lady sewed 'em, likesomethin' I'd try to do. All crooked. It's almost like-""-somebody knew you were comin' back for 'em."Jem shuddered. "Like somebody was readin' my mind… like somebodycould tell what I was gonna do. Can't anybody tell what I'm gonna dolest they know me, can they, Scout?"Jem's question was an appeal. I reassured him: "Can't anybody tellwhat you're gonna do lest they live in the house with you, and evenI can't tell sometimes."We were walking past our tree. In its knot-hole rested a ball ofgray twine.

　　"Don't take it, Jem," I said. "This is somebody's hidin' place.""I don't think so, Scout.""Yes it is. Somebody like Walter Cunningham comes down here everyrecess and hides his things- and we come along and take 'em awayfrom him. Listen, let's leave it and wait a couple of days. If itain't gone then, we'll take it, okay?""Okay, you might be right," said Jem. "It must be some littlekid's place- hides his things from the bigger folks. You know it'sonly when school's in that we've found things.""Yeah," I said, "but we never go by here in the summertime."We went home. Next morning the twine was where we had left it.

　　When it was still there on the third day, Jem pocketed it. From thenon, we considered everything we found in the knot-hole our property.

　　-The second grade was grim, but Jem assured me that the older I gotthe better school would be, that he started off the same way, and itwas not until one reached the sixth grade that one learned anything ofvalue. The sixth grade seemed to please him from the beginning: hewent through a brief Egyptian Period that baffled me- he tried to walkflat a great deal, sticking one arm in front of him and one in back ofhim, putting one foot behind the other. He declared Egyptians walkedthat way; I said if they did I didn't see how they got anythingdone, but Jem said they accomplished more than the Americans ever did,they invented toilet paper and perpetual embalming, and asked wherewould we be today if they hadn't? Atticus told me to delete theadjectives and I'd have the facts.

　　There are no clearly defined seasons in South Alabama; summer driftsinto autumn, and autumn is sometimes never followed by winter, butturns to a days-old spring that melts into summer again. That fall wasa long one, hardly cool enough for a light jacket. Jem and I weretrotting in our orbit one mild October afternoon when our knot-holestopped us again. Something white was inside this time.

　　Jem let me do the honors: I pulled out two small images carved insoap. One was the figure of a boy, the other wore a crude dress.

　　Before I remembered that there was no such thing as hoo-dooing, Ishrieked and threw them down.

　　Jem snatched them up. "What's the matter with you?" he yelled. Herubbed the figures free of red dust. "These are good," he said.

　　"I've never seen any these good."He held them down to me. They were almost perfect miniatures oftwo children. The boy had on shorts, and a shock of soapy hair fell tohis eyebrows. I looked up at Jem. A point of straight brown hairkicked downwards from his part. I had never noticed it before.

　　Jem looked from the girl-doll to me. The girl-doll wore bangs. Sodid I.

　　"These are us," he said.

　　"Who did 'em, you reckon?""Who do we know around here who whittles?" he asked.

　　"Mr. Avery.""Mr. Avery just does like this. I mean carves."Mr. Avery averaged a stick of stovewood per week; he honed it downto a toothpick and chewed it.

　　"There's old Miss Stephanie Crawford's sweetheart," I said.

　　"He carves all right, but he lives down the country. When would heever pay any attention to us?""Maybe he sits on the porch and looks at us instead of MissStephanie. If I was him, I would."Jem stared at me so long I asked what was the matter, but gotNothing, Scout for an answer. When we went home, Jem put the dollsin his trunk.

　　Less than two weeks later we found a whole package of chewing gum,which we enjoyed, the fact that everything on the Radley Place waspoison having slipped Jem's memory.

　　The following week the knot-hole yielded a tarnished medal. Jemshowed it to Atticus, who said it was a spelling medal, that before wewere born the Maycomb County schools had spelling contests and awardedmedals to the winners. Atticus said someone must have lost it, and hadwe asked around? Jem camel-kicked me when I tried to say where wehad found it. Jem asked Atticus if he remembered anybody who everwon one, and Atticus said no.

　　Our biggest prize appeared four days later. It was a pocket watchthat wouldn't run, on a chain with an aluminum knife.

　　"You reckon it's white gold, Jem?""Don't know. I'll show it to Atticus."Atticus said it would probably be worth ten dollars, knife, chainand all, if it were new. "Did you swap with somebody at school?" heasked.

　　"Oh, no sir!" Jem pulled out his grandfather's watch that Atticuslet him carry once a week if Jem were careful with it. On the dayshe carried the watch, Jem walked on eggs. "Atticus, if it's allright with you, I'd rather have this one instead. Maybe I can fix it."When the new wore off his grandfather's watch, and carrying itbecame a day's burdensome task, Jem no longer felt the necessity ofascertaining the hour every five minutes.

　　He did a fair job, only one spring and two tiny pieces left over,but the watch would not run. "Oh-h," he sighed, "it'll never go.

　　Scout-?""Huh?""You reckon we oughta write a letter to whoever's leaving us thesethings?""That'd be right nice, Jem, we can thank 'em- what's wrong?"Jem was holding his ears, shaking his head from side to side. "Idon't get it, I just don't get it- I don't know why, Scout…" Helooked toward the livingroom. "I've gotta good mind to tell Atticus-no, I reckon not.""I'll tell him for you.""No, don't do that, Scout. Scout?""Wha-t?"He had been on the verge of telling me something all evening; hisface would brighten and he would lean toward me, then he wouldchange his mind. He changed it again. "Oh, nothin'.""Here, let's write a letter." I pushed a tablet and pencil under hisnose.

　　"Okay. Dear Mister…""How do you know it's a man? I bet it's Miss Maudie- been bettin'

　　that for a long time.""Ar-r, Miss Maudie can't chew gum-" Jem broke into a grin. "Youknow, she can talk real pretty sometimes. One time I asked her to havea chew and she said no thanks, that- chewing gum cleaved to her palateand rendered her speechless," said Jem carefully. "Doesn't thatsound nice?""Yeah, she can say nice things sometimes. She wouldn't have awatch and chain anyway.""Dear sir," said Jem. "We appreciate the- no, we appreciateeverything which you have put into the tree for us. Yours verytruly, Jeremy Atticus Finch.""He won't know who you are if you sign it like that, Jem."Jem erased his name and wrote, "Jem Finch." I signed, "Jean LouiseFinch （Scout），" beneath it. Jem put the note in an envelope.

　　Next morning on the way to school he ran ahead of me and stoppedat the tree. Jem was facing me when he looked up, and I saw him gostark white.

　　"Scout!"I ran to him.

　　Someone had filled our knot-hole with cement.

　　"Don't you cry, now, Scout… don't cry now, don't you worry-" hemuttered at me all the way to school.

　　When we went home for dinner Jem bolted his food, ran to the porchand stood on the steps. I followed him. "Hasn't passed by yet," hesaid.

　　Next day Jem repeated his vigil and was rewarded.

　　"Hidy do, Mr. Nathan," he said.

　　"Morning Jem, Scout," said Mr. Radley, as he went by.

　　"Mr. Radley," said Jem.

　　Mr. Radley turned around.

　　"Mr. Radley, ah- did you put cement in that hole in that tree downyonder?""Yes," he said. "I filled it up.""Why'd you do it, sir?""Tree's dying. You plug 'em with cement when they're sick. You oughtto know that, Jem."Jem said nothing more about it until late afternoon. When wepassed our tree he gave it a meditative pat on its cement, andremained deep in thought. He seemed to be working himself into a badhumor, so I kept my distance.

　　As usual, we met Atticus coming home from work that evening. When wewere at our steps Jem said, "Atticus, look down yonder at that tree,please sir.""What tree, son?""The one on the corner of the Radley lot comin' from school.""Yes?""Is that tree dyin'?""Why no, son, I don't think so. Look at the leaves, they're allgreen and full, no brown patches anywhere-""It ain't even sick?""That tree's as healthy as you are, Jem. Why?""Mr. Nathan Radley said it was dyin'.""Well maybe it is. I'm sure Mr. Radley knows more about his treesthan we do."Atticus left us on the porch. Jem leaned on a pillar, rubbing hisshoulders against it.

　　"Do you itch, Jem?" I asked as politely as I could. He did notanswer. "Come on in, Jem," I said.

　　"After while."He stood there until nightfall, and I waited for him. When we wentin the house I saw he had been crying; his face was dirty in the rightplaces, but I thought it odd that I had not heard him.

　　8For reasons unfathomable to the most experienced prophets in MaycombCounty, autumn turned to winter that year. We had two weeks of thecoldest weather since 1885, Atticus said. Mr. Avery said it waswritten on the Rosetta Stone that when children disobeyed theirparents, smoked cigarettes and made war on each other, the seasonswould change: Jem and I were burdened with the guilt of contributingto the aberrations of nature, thereby causing unhappiness to ourneighbors and discomfort to ourselves.

　　Old Mrs. Radley died that winter, but her death caused hardly aripple- the neighborhood seldom saw her, except when she watered hercannas. Jem and I decided that Boo had got her at last, but whenAtticus returned from the Radley house he said she died of naturalcauses, to our disappointment.

　　"Ask him," Jem whispered.

　　"You ask him, you're the oldest.""That's why you oughta ask him.""Atticus," I said, "did you see Mr. Arthur?"Atticus looked sternly around his newspaper at me: "I did not."Jem restrained me from further questions. He said Atticus wasstill touchous about us and the Radleys and it wouldn't do to push himany. Jem had a notion that Atticus thought our activities that nightlast summer were not solely confined to strip poker. Jem had no firmbasis for his ideas, he said it was merely a twitch.

　　Next morning I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died offright. My screams brought Atticus from his bathroom half-shaven.

　　"The world's endin', Atticus! Please do something-!" I dragged himto the window and pointed.

　　"No it's not," he said. "It's snowing."Jem asked Atticus would it keep up. Jem had never seen snoweither, but he knew what it was. Atticus said he didn't know anymore about snow than Jem did. "I think, though, if it's watery likethat, it'll turn to rain."The telephone rang and Atticus left the breakfast table to answerit. "That was Eula May," he said when he returned. "I quote- 'As ithas not snowed in Maycomb County since 1885, there will be no schooltoday.'"Eula May was Maycomb's leading telephone operator. She was entrustedwith issuing public announcements, wedding invitations, setting offthe fire siren, and giving first-aid instructions when Dr. Reynoldswas away.

　　When Atticus finally called us to order and bade us look at ourplates instead of out the windows, Jem asked, "How do you make asnowman?""I haven't the slightest idea," said Atticus. "I don't want youall to be disappointed, but I doubt if there'll be enough snow for asnowball, even."Calpurnia came in and said she thought it was sticking. When weran to the back yard, it was covered with a feeble layer of soggysnow.

　　"We shouldn't walk about in it," said Jem. "Look, every step youtake's wasting it."I looked back at my mushy footprints. Jem said if we waited until itsnowed some more we could scrape it all up for a snowman. I stuckout my tongue and caught a fat flake. It burned.

　　"Jem, it's hot!""No it ain't, it's so cold it burns. Now don't eat it, Scout, you'rewasting it. Let it come down.""But I want to walk in it.""I know what, we can go walk over at Miss Maudie's."Jem hopped across the front yard. I followed in his tracks. Whenwe were on the sidewalk in front of Miss Maudie's, Mr. Averyaccosted us. He had a pink face and a big stomach below his belt.

　　"See what you've done?" he said. "Hasn't snowed in Maycomb sinceAppomattox. It's bad children like you makes the seasons change."I wondered if Mr. Avery knew how hopefully we had watched lastsummer for him to repeat his performance, and reflected that if thiswas our reward, there was something to say for sin. I did not wonderwhere Mr. Avery gathered his meteorological statistics: they camestraight from the Rosetta Stone.

　　"Jem Finch, you Jem Finch!""Miss Maudie's callin' you, Jem.""You all stay in the middle of the yard. There's some thriftburied under the snow near the porch. Don't step on it!""Yessum!" called Jem. "It's beautiful, ain't it, Miss Maudie?""Beautiful my hind foot! If it freezes tonight it'll carry off allmy azaleas!"Miss Maudie's old sunhat glistened with snow crystals. She wasbending over some small bushes, wrapping them in burlap bags. Jemasked her what she was doing that for.

　　"Keep 'em warm," she said.

　　"How can flowers keep warm? They don't circulate.""I cannot answer that question, Jem Finch. All I know is if itfreezes tonight these plants'll freeze, so you cover 'em up. Is thatclear?""Yessum. Miss Maudie?""What, sir?""Could Scout and me borrow some of your snow?""Heavens alive, take it all! There's an old peach basket under thehouse, haul it off in that." Miss Maudie's eyes narrowed. "JemFinch, what are you going to do with my snow?""You'll see," said Jem, and we transferred as much snow as wecould from Miss Maudie's yard to ours, a slushy operation.

　　"What are we gonna do, Jem?" I asked.

　　"You'll see," he said. "Now get the basket and haul all the snow youcan rake up from the back yard to the front. Walk back in your tracks,though," he cautioned.

　　"Are we gonna have a snow baby, Jem?""No, a real snowman. Gotta work hard, now."Jem ran to the back yard, produced the garden hoe and begandigging quickly behind the woodpile, placing any worms he found to oneside. He went in the house, returned with the laundry hamper, filledit with earth and carried it to the front yard.

　　When we had five baskets of earth and two baskets of snow, Jemsaid we were ready to begin.

　　"Don't you think this is kind of a mess?" I asked.

　　"Looks messy now, but it won't later," he said.

　　Jem scooped up an armful of dirt, patted it into a mound on which headded another load, and another until he had constructed a torso.

　　"Jem, I ain't ever heard of a nigger snowman," I said.

　　"He won't be black long," he grunted.

　　Jem procured some peachtree switches from the back yard, plaitedthem, and bent them into bones to be covered with dirt.

　　"He looks like Stephanie Crawford with her hands on her hips," Isaid. "Fat in the middle and little-bitty arms.""I'll make 'em bigger." Jem sloshed water over the mud man and addedmore dirt. He looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then he molded abig stomach below the figure's waistline. Jem glanced at me, hiseyes twinkling: "Mr. Avery's sort of shaped like a snowman, ain't he?"Jem scooped up some snow and began plastering it on. He permitted meto cover only the back, saving the public parts for himself. GraduallyMr. Avery turned white.

　　Using bits of wood for eyes, nose, mouth, and buttons, Jem succeededin making Mr. Avery look cross. A stick of stovewood completed thepicture. Jem stepped back and viewed his creation.

　　"It's lovely, Jem," I said. "Looks almost like he'd talk to you.""It is, ain't it?" he said shyly.

　　We could not wait for Atticus to come home for dinner, but calledand said we had a big surprise for him. He seemed surprised when hesaw most of the back yard in the front yard, but he said we had done ajim-dandy job. "I didn't know how you were going to do it," he said toJem, "but from now on I'll never worry about what'll become of you,son, you'll always have an idea."Jem's ears reddened from Atticus's compliment, but he looked upsharply when he saw Atticus stepping back. Atticus squinted at thesnowman a while. He grinned, then laughed. "Son, I can't tell whatyou're going to be- an engineer, a lawyer, or a portrait painter.

　　You've perpetrated a near libel here in the front yard. We've got todisguise this fellow."Atticus suggested that Jem hone down his creation's front alittle, swap a broom for the stovewood, and put an apron on him.

　　Jem explained that if he did, the snowman would become muddy andcease to be a snowman.

　　"I don't care what you do, so long as you do something," saidAtticus. "You can't go around making caricatures of the neighbors.""Ain't a characterture," said Jem. "It looks just like him.""Mr. Avery might not think so.""I know what!" said Jem. He raced across the street, disappearedinto Miss Maudie's back yard and returned triumphant. He stuck hersunhat on the snowman's head and jammed her hedge-clippers into thecrook of his arm. Atticus said that would be fine.

　　Miss Maudie opened her front door and came out on the porch. Shelooked across the street at us. Suddenly she grinned. "Jem Finch," shecalled. "You devil, bring me back my hat, sir!"Jem looked up at Atticus, who shook his head. "She's justfussing," he said. "She's really impressed with your-accomplishments."Atticus strolled over to Miss Maudie's sidewalk, where theyengaged in an arm-waving conversation, the only phrase of which Icaught was "…erected an absolute morphodite in that yard! Atticus,you'll never raise 'em!"The snow stopped in the afternoon, the temperature dropped, and bynightfall Mr. Avery's direst predictions came true: Calpurnia keptevery fireplace in the house blazing, but we were cold. When Atticuscame home that evening he said we were in for it, and askedCalpurnia if she wanted to stay with us for the night. Calpurniaglanced up at the high ceilings and long windows and said shethought she'd be warmer at her house. Atticus drove her home in thecar.

　　Before I went to sleep Atticus put more coal on the fire in my room.

　　He said the thermometer registered sixteen, that it was the coldestnight in his memory, and that our snowman outside was frozen solid.

　　Minutes later, it seemed, I was awakened by someone shaking me.

　　Atticus's overcoat was spread across me. "Is it morning already?""Baby, get up."Atticus was holding out my bathrobe and coat. "Put your robe onfirst," he said.

　　Jem was standing beside Atticus, groggy and tousled. He washolding his overcoat closed at the neck, his other hand was jammedinto his pocket. He looked strangely overweight.

　　"Hurry, hon," said Atticus. "Here're your shoes and socks."Stupidly, I put them on. "Is it morning?""No, it's a little after one. Hurry now."That something was wrong finally got through to me. "What's thematter?"By then he did not have to tell me. Just as the birds know whereto go when it rains, I knew when there was trouble in our street. Softtaffeta-like sounds and muffled scurrying sounds filled me withhelpless dread.

　　"Whose is it?""Miss Maudie's, hon," said Atticus gently.

　　At the front door, we saw fire spewing from Miss Maudie's diningroomwindows. As if to confirm what we saw, the town fire siren wailed upthe scale to a treble pitch and remained there, screaming.

　　"It's gone, ain't it?" moaned Jem.

　　"I expect so," said Atticus. "Now listen, both of you. Go down andstand in front of the Radley Place. Keep out of the way, do youhear? See which way the wind's blowing?""Oh," said Jem. "Atticus, reckon we oughta start moving thefurniture out?""Not yet, son. Do as I tell you. Run now. Take care of Scout, youhear? Don't let her out of your sight."With a push, Atticus started us toward the Radley front gate. Westood watching the street fill with men and cars while fire silentlydevoured Miss Maudie's house. "Why don't they hurry, why don't theyhurry…" muttered Jem.

　　We saw why. The old fire truck, killed by the cold, was being pushedfrom town by a crowd of men. When the men attached its hose to ahydrant, the hose burst and water shot up, tinkling down on thepavement.

　　"Oh-h Lord, Jem…"Jem put his arm around me. "Hush, Scout," he said. "It ain't time toworry yet. I'll let you know when."The men of Maycomb, in all degrees of dress and undress, tookfurniture from Miss Maudie's house to a yard across the street. Isaw Atticus carrying Miss Maudie's heavy oak rocking chair, andthought it sensible of him to save what she valued most.

　　Sometimes we heard shouts. Then Mr. Avery's face appeared in anupstairs window. He pushed a mattress out the window into the streetand threw down furniture until men shouted, "Come down from there,Dick! The stairs are going! Get outta there, Mr. Avery!"Mr. Avery began climbing through the window.

　　"Scout, he's stuck…" breathed Jem. "Oh God…"Mr. Avery was wedged tightly. I buried my head under Jem's arm anddidn't look again until Jem cried, "He's got loose, Scout! He's allright!"I looked up to see Mr. Avery cross the upstairs porch. He swunghis legs over the railing and was sliding down a pillar when heslipped. He fell, yelled, and hit Miss Maudie's shrubbery.

　　Suddenly I noticed that the men were backing away from Miss Maudie'shouse, moving down the street toward us. They were no longercarrying furniture. The fire was well into the second floor and hadeaten its way to the roof: window frames were black against a vividorange center.

　　"Jem, it looks like a pumpkin-""Scout, look!"Smoke was rolling off our house and Miss Rachel's house like fog offa riverbank, and men were pulling hoses toward them. Behind us, thefire truck from Abbottsville screamed around the curve and stoppedin front of our house.

　　"That book…" I said.

　　"What?" said Jem.

　　"That Tom Swift book, it ain't mine, it's Dill's…""Don't worry, Scout, it ain't time to worry yet," said Jem. Hepointed. "Looka yonder."In a group of neighbors, Atticus was standing with his hands inhis overcoat pockets. He might have been watching a football game.

　　Miss Maudie was beside him.

　　"See there, he's not worried yet," said Jem.

　　"Why ain't he on top of one of the houses?""He's too old, he'd break his neck.""You think we oughta make him get our stuff out?""Let's don't pester him, he'll know when it's time," said Jem.

　　The Abbottsville fire truck began pumping water on our house; aman on the roof pointed to places that needed it most. I watched ourAbsolute Morphodite go black and crumble; Miss Maudie's sunhat settledon top of the heap. I could not see her hedge-clippers. In the heatbetween our house, Miss Rachel's and Miss Maudie's, the men had longago shed coats and bathrobes. They worked in pajama tops andnightshirts stuffed into their pants, but I became aware that I wasslowly freezing where I stood. Jem tried to keep me warm, but hisarm was not enough. I pulled free of it and clutched my shoulders.

　　By dancing a little, I could feel my feet.

　　Another fire truck appeared and stopped in front of Miss StephanieCrawford's. There was no hydrant for another hose, and the men triedto soak her house with hand extinguishers.

　　Miss Maudie's tin roof quelled the flames. Roaring, the housecollapsed; fire gushed everywhere, followed by a flurry of blanketsfrom men on top of the adjacent houses, beating out sparks and burningchunks of wood.

　　It was dawn before the men began to leave, first one by one, then ingroups. They pushed the Maycomb fire truck back to town, theAbbottsville truck departed, the third one remained. We found out nextday it had come from Clark's Ferry, sixty miles away.

　　Jem and I slid across the street. Miss Maudie was staring at thesmoking black hole in her yard, and Atticus shook his head to tellus she did not want to talk. He led us home, holding onto ourshoulders to cross the icy street. He said Miss Maudie would stay withMiss Stephanie for the time being.

　　"Anybody want some hot chocolate?" he asked. I shuddered whenAtticus started a fire in the kitchen stove.

　　As we drank our cocoa I noticed Atticus looking at me, first withcuriosity, then with sternness. "I thought I told you and Jem tostay put," he said.

　　"Why, we did. We stayed-""Then whose blanket is that?""Blanket?""Yes ma'am, blanket. It isn't ours."I looked down and found myself clutching a brown woolen blanket Iwas wearing around my shoulders, squaw-fashion.

　　"Atticus, I don't know, sir… I-"I turned to Jem for an answer, but Jem was even more bewildered thanI. He said he didn't know how it got there, we did exactly asAtticus had told us, we stood down by the Radley gate away fromeverybody, we didn't move an inch- Jem stopped.

　　"Mr. Nathan was at the fire," he babbled, "I saw him, I saw him,he was tuggin' that mattress- Atticus, I swear…""That's all right, son." Atticus grinned slowly. "Looks like allof Maycomb was out tonight, in one way or another. Jem, there's somewrapping paper in the pantry, I think. Go get it and we'll-""Atticus, no sir!"Jem seemed to have lost his mind. He began pouring out our secretsright and left in total disregard for my safety if not for his own,omitting nothing, knot-hole, pants and all.

　　"…Mr. Nathan put cement in that tree, Atticus, an' he did it tostop us findin' things- he's crazy, I reckon, like they say, butAtticus, I swear to God he ain't ever harmed us, he ain't ever hurtus, he coulda cut my throat from ear to ear that night but he tried tomend my pants instead… he ain't ever hurt us, Atticus-"Atticus said, "Whoa, son," so gently that I was greatly heartened.

　　It was obvious that he had not followed a word Jem said, for allAtticus said was, "You're right. We'd better keep this and the blanketto ourselves. Someday, maybe, Scout can thank him for covering herup.""Thank who?" I asked.

　　"Boo Radley. You were so busy looking at the fire you didn't know itwhen he put the blanket around you."My stomach turned to water and I nearly threw up when Jem held outthe blanket and crept toward me. "He sneaked out of the house- turn'round- sneaked up, an' went like this!"Atticus said dryly, "Do not let this inspire you to further glory,Jeremy."Jem scowled, "I ain't gonna do anything to him," but I watched thespark of fresh adventure leave his eyes. "Just think, Scout," he said,"if you'd just turned around, you'da seen him."Calpurnia woke us at noon. Atticus had said we need not go to schoolthat day, we'd learn nothing after no sleep. Calpurnia said for usto try and clean up the front yard.

　　Miss Maudie's sunhat was suspended in a thin layer of ice, like afly in amber, and we had to dig under the dirt for her hedge-clippers.

　　We found her in her back yard, gazing at her frozen charred azaleas.

　　"We're bringing back your things, Miss Maudie," said Jem. "We'reawful sorry."Miss Maudie looked around, and the shadow of her old grin crossedher face. "Always wanted a smaller house, Jem Finch. Gives me moreyard. Just think, I'll have more room for my azaleas now!""You ain't grievin', Miss Maudie?" I asked, surprised. Atticussaid her house was nearly all she had.

　　"Grieving, child? Why, I hated that old cow barn. Thought of settin'

　　fire to it a hundred times myself, except they'd lock me up.""But-""Don't you worry about me, Jean Louise Finch. There are ways ofdoing things you don't know about. Why, I'll build me a little houseand take me a couple of roomers and- gracious, I'll have the finestyard in Alabama. Those Bellingraths'll look plain puny when I getstarted!"Jem and I looked at each other. "How'd it catch, Miss Maudie?" heasked.

　　"I don't know, Jem. Probably the flue in the kitchen. I kept afire in there last night for my potted plants. Hear you had someunexpected company last night, Miss Jean Louise.""How'd you know?""Atticus told me on his way to town this morning. Tell you thetruth, I'd like to've been with you. And I'd've had sense enough toturn around, too."Miss Maudie puzzled me. With most of her possessions gone and herbeloved yard a shambles, she still took a lively and cordialinterest in Jem's and my affairs.

　　She must have seen my perplexity. She said, "Only thing I worriedabout last night was all the danger and commotion it caused. Thiswhole neighborhood could have gone up. Mr. Avery'll be in bed for aweek- he's right stove up. He's too old to do things like that and Itold him so. Soon as I can get my hands clean and when StephanieCrawford's not looking, I'll make him a Lane cake. That Stephanie'sbeen after my recipe for thirty years, and if she thinks I'll giveit to her just because I'm staying with her she's got another thinkcoming."I reflected that if Miss Maudie broke down and gave it to her,Miss Stephanie couldn't follow it anyway. Miss Maudie had once letme see it: among other things, the recipe called for one large cupof sugar.

　　It was a still day. The air was so cold and clear we heard thecourthouse clock clank, rattle and strain before it struck the hour.

　　Miss Maudie's nose was a color I had never seen before, and I inquiredabout it.

　　"I've been out here since six o'clock," she said. "Should befrozen by now." She held up her hands. A network of tiny linescrisscrossed her palms, brown with dirt and dried blood.

　　"You've ruined 'em," said Jem. "Why don't you get a colored man?"There was no note of sacrifice in his voice when he added, "OrScout'n'me, we can help you."Miss Maudie said, "Thank you sir, but you've got a job of your ownover there." She pointed to our yard.

　　"You mean the Morphodite?" I asked. "Shoot, we can rake him up ina jiffy."Miss Maudie stared down at me, her lips moving silently. Suddenlyshe put her hands to her head and whooped. When we left her, she wasstill chuckling.

　　Jem said he didn't know what was the matter with her- that wasjust Miss Maudie.

　　9"You can just take that back, boy!"This order, given by me to Cecil Jacobs, was the beginning of arather thin time for Jem and me. My fists were clenched and I wasready to let fly. Atticus had promised me he would wear me out if heever heard of me fighting any more; I was far too old and too bigfor such childish things, and the sooner I learned to hold in, thebetter off everybody would be. I soon forgot.

　　Cecil Jacobs made me forget. He had announced in the schoolyardthe day before that Scout Finch's daddy defended niggers. I denied it,but told Jem.

　　"What'd he mean sayin' that?" I asked.

　　"Nothing," Jem said. "Ask Atticus, he'll tell you.""Do you defend niggers, Atticus?" I asked him that evening.

　　"Of course I do. Don't say nigger, Scout. That's common.""'s what everybody at school says.""From now on it'll be everybody less one-""Well if you don't want me to grow up talkin' that way, why do yousend me to school?"My father looked at me mildly, amusement in his eyes. Despite ourcompromise, my campaign to avoid school had continued in one form oranother since my first day's dose of it: the beginning of lastSeptember had brought on sinking spells, dizziness, and mild gastriccomplaints. I went so far as to pay a nickel for the privilege ofrubbing my head against the head of Miss Rachel's cook's son, whowas afflicted with a tremendous ringworm. It didn't take.

　　But I was worrying another bone. "Do all lawyers defend n-Negroes,Atticus?""Of course they do, Scout.""Then why did Cecil say you defended niggers? He made it soundlike you were runnin' a still."Atticus sighed. "I'm simply defending a Negro- his name's TomRobinson. He lives in that little settlement beyond the town dump.

　　He's a member of Calpurnia's church, and Cal knows his family well.

　　She says they're clean-living folks. Scout, you aren't old enough tounderstand some things yet, but there's been some high talk aroundtown to the effect that I shouldn't do much about defending thisman. It's a peculiar case- it won't come to trial until summersession. John Taylor was kind enough to give us a postponement…""If you shouldn't be defendin' him, then why are you doin' it?""For a number of reasons," said Atticus. "The main one is, if Ididn't I couldn't hold up my head in town, I couldn't represent thiscounty in the legislature, I couldn't even tell you or Jem not to dosomething again.""You mean if you didn't defend that man, Jem and me wouldn't have tomind you any more?""That's about right.""Why?""Because I could never ask you to mind me again. Scout, simply bythe nature of the work, every lawyer gets at least one case in hislifetime that affects him personally. This one's mine, I guess. Youmight hear some ugly talk about it at school, but do one thing forme if you will: you just hold your head high and keep those fistsdown. No matter what anybody says to you, don't you let 'em get yourgoat. Try fighting with your head for a change… it's a good one,even if it does resist learning.""Atticus, are we going to win it?""No, honey.""Then why-""Simply because we were licked a hundred years before we startedis no reason for us not to try to win," Atticus said.

　　"You sound like Cousin Ike Finch," I said. Cousin Ike Finch wasMaycomb County's sole surviving Confederate veteran. He wore a GeneralHood type beard of which he was inordinately vain. At least once ayear Atticus, Jem and I called on him, and I would have to kiss him.

　　It was horrible. Jem and I would listen respectfully to Atticus andCousin Ike rehash the war. "Tell you, Atticus," Cousin Ike wouldsay, "the Missouri Compromise was what licked us, but if I had to gothrough it agin I'd walk every step of the way there an' every stepback jist like I did before an' furthermore we'd whip 'em this time…now in 1864, when Stonewall Jackson came around by- I beg your pardon,young folks. Ol' Blue Light was in heaven then, God rest his saintlybrow…""Come here, Scout," said Atticus. I crawled into his lap andtucked my head under his chin. He put his arms around me and rocked megently. "It's different this time," he said. "This time we aren'tfighting the Yankees, we're fighting our friends. But remember this,no matter how bitter things get, they're still our friends and this isstill our home."With this in mind, I faced Cecil Jacobs in the schoolyard nextday: "You gonna take that back, boy?""You gotta make me first!" he yelled. "My folks said your daddywas a disgrace an' that nigger oughta hang from the water-tank!"I drew a bead on him, remembered what Atticus had said, then droppedmy fists and walked away, "Scout's a cow- ward!" ringing in my ears.

　　It was the first time I ever walked away from a fight.

　　Somehow, if I fought Cecil I would let Atticus down. Atticus sorarely asked Jem and me to do something for him, I could take beingcalled a coward for him. I felt extremely noble for having remembered,and remained noble for three weeks. Then Christmas came and disasterstruck.

　　Jem and I viewed Christmas with mixed feelings. The good side wasthe tree and Uncle Jack Finch. Every Christmas Eve day we met UncleJack at Maycomb Junction, and he would spend a week with us.

　　A flip of the coin revealed the uncompromising lineaments of AuntAlexandra and Francis.

　　I suppose I should include Uncle Jimmy, Aunt Alexandra's husband,but as he never spoke a word to me in my life except to say, "Getoff the fence," once, I never saw any reason to take notice of him.

　　Neither did Aunt Alexandra. Long ago, in a burst of friendliness,Aunty and Uncle Jimmy produced a son named Henry, who left home assoon as was humanly possible, married, and produced Francis. Henry andhis wife deposited Francis at his grandparents' every Christmas,then pursued their own pleasures.

　　No amount of sighing could induce Atticus to let us spendChristmas day at home. We went to Finch's Landing every Christmas inmy memory. The fact that Aunty was a good cook was some compensationfor being forced to spend a religious holiday with Francis Hancock. Hewas a year older than I, and I avoided him on principle: he enjoyedeverything I disapproved of, and disliked my ingenuous diversions.

　　Aunt Alexandra was Atticus's sister, but when Jem told me aboutchangelings and siblings, I decided that she had been swapped atbirth, that my grandparents had perhaps received a Crawford instead ofa Finch. Had I ever harbored the mystical notions about mountains thatseem to obsess lawyers and judges, Aunt Alexandra would have beenanalogous to Mount Everest: throughout my early life, she was cold andthere.

　　When Uncle Jack jumped down from the train Christmas Eve day, we hadto wait for the porter to hand him two long packages. Jem and I alwaysthought it funny when Uncle Jack pecked Atticus on the cheek; theywere the only two men we ever saw kiss each other. Uncle Jack shookhands with Jem and swung me high, but not high enough: Uncle Jackwas a head shorter than Atticus; the baby of the family, he wasyounger than Aunt Alexandra. He and Aunty looked alike, but Uncle Jackmade better use of his face: we were never wary of his sharp noseand chin.

　　He was one of the few men of science who never terrified me,probably because he never behaved like a doctor. Whenever he performeda minor service for Jem and me, as removing a splinter from a foot, hewould tell us exactly what he was going to do, give us an estimationof how much it would hurt, and explain the use of any tongs heemployed. One Christmas I lurked in corners nursing a twisted splinterin my foot, permitting no one to come near me. When Uncle Jackcaught me, he kept me laughing about a preacher who hated going tochurch so much that every day he stood at his gate in hisdressing-gown, smoking a hookah and delivering five-minute sermonsto any passers-by who desired spiritual comfort. I interrupted to makeUncle Jack let me know when he would pull it out, but he held up abloody splinter in a pair of tweezers and said he yanked it while Iwas laughing, that was what was known as relativity.

　　"What's in those packages?" I asked him, pointing to the long thinparcels the porter had given him.

　　"None of your business," he said.

　　Jem said, "How's Rose Aylmer?"Rose Aylmer was Uncle Jack's cat. She was a beautiful yellowfemale Uncle Jack said was one of the few women he could standpermanently. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out somesnapshots. We admired them.

　　"She's gettin' fat," I said.

　　"I should think so. She eats all the leftover fingers and earsfrom the hospital.""Aw, that's a damn story," I said.

　　"I beg your pardon?"Atticus said, "Don't pay any attention to her, Jack. She's tryingyou out. Cal says she's been cussing fluently for a week, now."Uncle Jack raised his eyebrows and said nothing. I was proceeding onthe dim theory, aside from the innate attractiveness of such words,that if Atticus discovered I had picked them up at school hewouldn't make me go.

　　But at supper that evening when I asked him to pass the damn ham,please, Uncle Jack pointed at me. "See me afterwards, young lady,"he said.

　　When supper was over, Uncle Jack went to the livingroom and satdown. He slapped his thighs for me to come sit on his lap. I likedto smell him: he was like a bottle of alcohol and something pleasantlysweet. He pushed back my bangs and looked at me. "You're more likeAtticus than your mother," he said. "You're also growing out of yourpants a little.""I reckon they fit all right.""You like words like damn and hell now, don't you?"I said I reckoned so.

　　"Well I don't," said Uncle Jack, "not unless there's extremeprovocation connected with 'em. I'll be here a week, and I don'twant to hear any words like that while I'm here. Scout, you'll getin trouble if you go around saying things like that. You want togrow up to be a lady, don't you?"I said not particularly.

　　"Of course you do. Now let's get to the tree."We decorated the tree until bedtime, and that night I dreamed of thetwo long packages for Jem and me. Next morning Jem and I dived forthem: they were from Atticus, who had written Uncle Jack to get themfor us, and they were what we had asked for.

　　"Don't point them in the house," said Atticus, when Jem aimed at apicture on the wall.

　　"You'll have to teach 'em to shoot," said Uncle Jack.

　　"That's your job," said Atticus. "I merely bowed to the inevitable."It took Atticus's courtroom voice to drag us away from the tree.

　　He declined to let us take our air rifles to the Landing （I hadalready begun to think of shooting Francis） and said if we made onefalse move he'd take them away from us for good.

　　Finch's Landing consisted of three hundred and sixty-six stepsdown a high bluff and ending in a jetty. Farther down stream, beyondthe bluff, were traces of an old cotton landing, where Finch Negroeshad loaded bales and produce, unloaded blocks of ice, flour and sugar,farm equipment, and feminine apparel. A two-rut road ran from theriverside and vanished among dark trees. At the end of the road wasa two-storied white house with porches circling it upstairs anddownstairs. In his old age, our ancestor Simon Finch had built it toplease his nagging wife; but with the porches all resemblance toordinary houses of its era ended. The internal arrangements of theFinch house were indicative of Simon's guilelessness and theabsolute trust with which he regarded his offspring.

　　There were six bedrooms upstairs, four for the eight femalechildren, one for Welcome Finch, the sole son, and one for visitingrelatives. Simple enough; but the daughters' rooms could be reachedonly by one staircase, Welcome's room and the guestroom only byanother. The Daughters' Staircase was in the ground-floor bedroom oftheir parents, so Simon always knew the hours of his daughters'

　　nocturnal comings and goings.

　　There was a kitchen separate from the rest of the house, tacked ontoit by a wooden catwalk; in the back yard was a rusty bell on a pole,used to summon field hands or as a distress signal; a widow's walk wason the roof, but no widows walked there- from it, Simon oversaw hisoverseer, watched the river-boats, and gazed into the lives ofsurrounding landholders.

　　There went with the house the usual legend about the Yankees: oneFinch female, recently engaged, donned her complete trousseau tosave it from raiders in the neighborhood; she became stuck in the doorto the Daughters' Staircase but was doused with water and finallypushed through. When we arrived at the Landing, Aunt Alexandrakissed Uncle Jack, Francis kissed Uncle Jack, Uncle Jimmy shookhands silently with Uncle Jack, Jem and I gave our presents toFrancis, who gave us a present. Jem felt his age and gravitated to theadults, leaving me to entertain our cousin. Francis was eight andslicked back his hair.

　　"What'd you get for Christmas?" I asked politely.

　　"Just what I asked for," he said. Francis had requested a pair ofknee-pants, a red leather booksack, five shirts and an untied bow tie.

　　"That's nice," I lied. "Jem and me got air rifles, and Jem got achemistry set-""A toy one, I reckon.""No, a real one. He's gonna make me some invisible ink, and I'mgonna write to Dill in it."Francis asked what was the use of that.

　　"Well, can't you just see his face when he gets a letter from mewith nothing in it? It'll drive him nuts."Talking to Francis gave me the sensation of settling slowly to thebottom of the ocean. He was the most boring child I ever met. As helived in Mobile, he could not inform on me to school authorities,but he managed to tell everything he knew to Aunt Alexandra, who inturn unburdened herself to Atticus, who either forgot it or gave mehell, whichever struck his fancy. But the only time I ever heardAtticus speak sharply to anyone was when I once heard him say,"Sister, I do the best I can with them!" It had something to do withmy going around in overalls.

　　Aunt Alexandra was fanatical on the subject of my attire. I couldnot possibly hope to be a lady if I wore breeches; when I said I coulddo nothing in a dress, she said I wasn't supposed to be doing thingsthat required pants. Aunt Alexandra's vision of my deportment involvedplaying with small stoves, tea sets, and wearing the Add-A-Pearlnecklace she gave me when I was born; furthermore, I should be a rayof sunshine in my father's lonely life. I suggested that one couldbe a ray of sunshine in pants just as well, but Aunty said that onehad to behave like a sunbeam, that I was born good but had grownprogressively worse every year. She hurt my feelings and set myteeth permanently on edge, but when I asked Atticus about it, hesaid there were already enough sunbeams in the family and to go onabout my business, he didn't mind me much the way I was.

　　At Christmas dinner, I sat at the little table in the diningroom;Jem and Francis sat with the adults at the dining table. Aunty hadcontinued to isolate me long after Jem and Francis graduated to thebig table. I often wondered what she thought I'd do, get up andthrow something? I sometimes thought of asking her if she would let mesit at the big table with the rest of them just once, I would prove toher how civilized I could be; after all, I ate at home every daywith no major mishaps. When I begged Atticus to use his influence,he said he had none- we were guests, and we sat where she told us tosit. He also said Aunt Alexandra didn't understand girls much, she'dnever had one.

　　But her cooking made up for everything: three kinds of meat,summer vegetables from her pantry shelves; peach pickles, two kinds ofcake and ambrosia constituted a modest Christmas dinner. Afterwards,the adults made for the livingroom and sat around in a dazedcondition. Jem lay on the floor, and I went to the back yard. "Puton your coat," said Atticus dreamily, so I didn't hear him.

　　Francis sat beside me on the back steps. "That was the best yet,"I said.

　　"Grandma's a wonderful cook," said Francis. "She's gonna teach mehow.""Boys don't cook." I giggled at the thought of Jem in an apron.

　　"Grandma says all men should learn to cook, that men oughta becareful with their wives and wait on 'em when they don't feel good,"said my cousin.

　　"I don't want Dill waitin' on me," I said. "I'd rather wait on him.""Dill?""Yeah. Don't say anything about it yet, but we're gonna getmarried as soon as we're big enough. He asked me last summer."Francis hooted.

　　"What's the matter with him?" I asked. "Ain't anything the matterwith him.""You mean that little runt Grandma says stays with Miss Rachel everysummer?""That's exactly who I mean.""I know all about him," said Francis.

　　"What about him?""Grandma says he hasn't got a home-""Has too, he lives in Meridian.""-he just gets passed around from relative to relative, and MissRachel keeps him every summer.""Francis, that's not so!"Francis grinned at me. "You're mighty dumb sometimes, Jean Louise.

　　Guess you don't know any better, though.""What do you mean?""If Uncle Atticus lets you run around with stray dogs, that's hisown business, like Grandma says, so it ain't your fault. I guess itain't your fault if Uncle Atticus is a nigger-lover besides, but I'mhere to tell you it certainly does mortify the rest of the family-""Francis, what the hell do you mean?""Just what I said. Grandma says it's bad enough he lets you allrun wild, but now he's turned out a nigger-lover we'll never be ableto walk the streets of Maycomb agin. He's ruinin' the family, that'swhat he's doin'."Francis rose and sprinted down the catwalk to the old kitchen. Ata safe distance he called, "He's nothin' but a nigger-lover!""He is not!" I roared. "I don't know what you're talkin' about,but you better cut it out this red hot minute!"I leaped off the steps and ran down the catwalk. It was easy tocollar Francis. I said take it back quick.

　　Francis jerked loose and sped into the old kitchen.

　　"Nigger-lover!" he yelled.

　　When stalking one's prey, it is best to take one's time. Saynothing, and as sure as eggs he will become curious and emerge.

　　Francis appeared at the kitchen door. "You still mad, Jean Louise?" heasked tentatively.

　　"Nothing to speak of," I said.

　　Francis came out on the catwalk.

　　"You gonna take it back, Fra- ancis?" But I was too quick on thedraw. Francis shot back into the kitchen, so I retired to the steps. Icould wait patiently. I had sat there perhaps five minutes when Iheard Aunt Alexandra speak: "Where's Francis?""He's out yonder in the kitchen.""He knows he's not supposed to play in there."Francis came to the door and yelled, "Grandma, she's got me inhere and she won't let me out!""What is all this, Jean Louise?"I looked up at Aunt Alexandra. "I haven't got him in there, Aunty, Iain't holdin' him.""Yes she is," shouted Francis, "she won't let me out!""Have you all been fussing?""Jean Louise got mad at me, Grandma," called Francis.

　　"Francis, come out of there! Jean Louise, if I hear another word outof you I'll tell your father. Did I hear you say hell a while ago?""Nome.""I thought I did. I'd better not hear it again."Aunt Alexandra was a back-porch listener. The moment she was outof sight Francis came out head up and grinning. "Don't you fool withme," he said.

　　He jumped into the yard and kept his distance, kicking tufts ofgrass, turning around occasionally to smile at me. Jem appeared on theporch, looked at us, and went away. Francis climbed the mimosa tree,came down, put his hands in his pockets and strolled around theyard. "Hah!" he said. I asked him who he thought he was, Uncle Jack?

　　Francis said he reckoned I got told, for me to just sit there andleave him alone.

　　"I ain't botherin' you," I said.

　　Francis looked at me carefully, concluded that I had beensufficiently subdued, and crooned softly, "Nigger-lover…"This time, I split my knuckle to the bone on his front teeth. Myleft impaired, I sailed in with my right, but not for long. Uncle Jackpinned my arms to my sides and said, "Stand still!"Aunt Alexandra ministered to Francis, wiping his tears away with herhandkerchief, rubbing his hair, patting his cheek. Atticus, Jem, andUncle Jimmy had come to the back porch when Francis started yelling.

　　"Who started this?" said Uncle Jack.

　　Francis and I pointed at each other. "Grandma," he bawled, "shecalled me a whore-lady and jumped on me!""Is that true, Scout?" said Uncle Jack.

　　"I reckon so."When Uncle Jack looked down at me, his features were like AuntAlexandra's. "You know I told you you'd get in trouble if you usedwords like that? I told you, didn't I?""Yes sir, but-""Well, you're in trouble now. Stay there."I was debating whether to stand there or run, and tarried inindecision a moment too long: I turned to flee but Uncle Jack wasquicker. I found myself suddenly looking at a tiny ant struggling witha bread crumb in the grass.

　　"I'll never speak to you again as long as I live! I hate you an'

　　despise you an' hope you die tomorrow!" A statement that seemed toencourage Uncle Jack, more than anything. I ran to Atticus forcomfort, but he said I had it coming and it was high time we wenthome. I climbed into the back seat of the car without sayinggood-bye to anyone, and at home I ran to my room and slammed the door.

　　Jem tried to say something nice, but I wouldn't let him.

　　When I surveyed the damage there were only seven or eight red marks,and I was reflecting upon relativity when someone knocked on the door.

　　I asked who it was; Uncle Jack answered.

　　"Go away!"Uncle Jack said if I talked like that he'd lick me again, so I wasquiet. When he entered the room I retreated to a corner and turnedmy back on him. "Scout," he said, "do you still hate me?""Go on, please sir.""Why, I didn't think you'd hold it against me," he said. "I'mdisappointed in you- you had that coming and you know it.""Didn't either.""Honey, you can't go around calling people-""You ain't fair," I said, "you ain't fair."Uncle Jack's eyebrows went up. "Not fair? How not?""You're real nice, Uncle Jack, an' I reckon I love you even afterwhat you did, but you don't understand children much."Uncle Jack put his hands on his hips and looked down at me. "And whydo I not understand children, Miss Jean Louise? Such conduct asyours required little understanding. It was obstreperous, disorderlyand abusive-""You gonna give me a chance to tell you? I don't mean to sass you,I'm just tryin' to tell you."Uncle Jack sat down on the bed. His eyebrows came together, and hepeered up at me from under them. "Proceed," he said.

　　I took a deep breath. "Well, in the first place you never stopped togimme a chance to tell you my side of it- you just lit right intome. When Jem an' I fuss Atticus doesn't ever just listen to Jem's sideof it, he hears mine too, an' in the second place you told me never touse words like that except in ex-extreme provocation, and Francisprovocated me enough to knock his block off-"Uncle Jack scratched his head. "What was your side of it, Scout?""Francis called Atticus somethin', an' I wasn't about to take it offhim.""What did Francis call him?""A nigger-lover. I ain't very sure what it means, but the wayFrancis said it- tell you one thing right now, Uncle Jack, I'll be-I swear before God if I'll sit there and let him say somethin' aboutAtticus.""He called Atticus that?""Yes sir, he did, an' a lot more. Said Atticus'd be the ruination ofthe family an' he let Jem an me run wild…"From the look on Uncle Jack's face, I thought I was in for it again.

　　When he said, "We'll see about this," I knew Francis was in for it.

　　"I've a good mind to go out there tonight.""Please sir, just let it go. Please.""I've no intention of letting it go," he said. "Alexandra shouldknow about this. The idea of- wait'll I get my hands on that boy…""Uncle Jack, please promise me somethin', please sir. Promise youwon't tell Atticus about this. He- he asked me one time not to letanything I heard about him make me mad, an' I'd ruther him think wewere fightin' about somethin' else instead. Please promise…""But I don't like Francis getting away with something like that-""He didn't. You reckon you could tie up my hand? It's still bleedin'

　　some.""Of course I will, baby. I know of no hand I would be more delightedto tie up. Will you come this way?"Uncle Jack gallantly bowed me to the bathroom. While he cleanedand bandaged my knuckles, he entertained me with a tale about afunny nearsighted old gentleman who had a cat named Hodge, and whocounted all the cracks in the sidewalk when he went to town. "Therenow," he said. "You'll have a very unladylike scar on yourwedding-ring finger.""Thank you sir. Uncle Jack?""Ma'am?""What's a whore-lady?"Uncle Jack plunged into another long tale about an old PrimeMinister who sat in the House of Commons and blew feathers in theair and tried to keep them there when all about him men were losingtheir heads. I guess he was trying to answer my question, but hemade no sense whatsoever.

　　Later, when I was supposed to be in bed, I went down the hall fora drink of water and heard Atticus and Uncle Jack in the livingroom:

　　"I shall never marry, Atticus.""Why?""I might have children."Atticus said, "You've a lot to learn, Jack.""I know. Your daughter gave me my first lessons this afternoon.

　　She said I didn't understand children much and told me why. She wasquite right. Atticus, she told me how I should have treated her- ohdear, I'm so sorry I romped on her."Atticus chuckled. "She earned it, so don't feel too remorseful."I waited, on tenterhooks, for Uncle Jack to tell Atticus my sideof it. But he didn't. He simply murmured, "Her use of bathroominvective leaves nothing to the imagination. But she doesn't knowthe meaning of half she says- she asked me what a whore-lady was…""Did you tell her?""No, I told her about Lord Melbourne.""Jack! When a child asks you something, answer him, for goodness'

　　sake. But don't make a production of it. Children are children, butthey can spot an evasion quicker than adults, and evasion simplymuddles 'em. No," my father mused, "you had the right answer thisafternoon, but the wrong reasons. Bad language is a stage all childrengo through, and it dies with time when they learn they're notattracting attention with it. Hotheadedness isn't. Scout's got tolearn to keep her head and learn soon, with what's in store for herthese next few months. She's coming along, though. Jem's getting olderand she follows his example a good bit now. All she needs isassistance sometimes.""Atticus, you've never laid a hand on her.""I admit that. So far I've been able to get by with threats. Jack,she minds me as well as she can. Doesn't come up to scratch half thetime, but she tries.""That's not the answer," said Uncle Jack.

　　"No, the answer is she knows I know she tries. That's what makes thedifference. What bothers me is that she and Jem will have to absorbsome ugly things pretty soon. I'm not worried about Jem keeping hishead, but Scout'd just as soon jump on someone as look at him if herpride's at stake…"I waited for Uncle Jack to break his promise. He still didn't.

　　"Atticus, how bad is this going to be? You haven't had too muchchance to discuss it.""It couldn't be worse, Jack. The only thing we've got is a blackman's word against the Ewells'. The evidence boils down to you-did-I-didn't. The jury couldn't possibly be expected to take TomRobinson's word against the Ewells'- are you acquainted with theEwells?"Uncle Jack said yes, he remembered them. He described them toAtticus, but Atticus said, "You're a generation off. The presentones are the same, though.""What are you going to do, then?""Before I'm through, I intend to jar the jury a bit- I think we'llhave a reasonable chance on appeal, though. I really can't tell atthis stage, Jack. You know, I'd hoped to get through life without acase of this kind, but John Taylor pointed at me and said, 'You'reIt.'""Let this cup pass from you, eh?""Right. But do you think I could face my children otherwise? Youknow what's going to happen as well as I do, Jack, and I hope and prayI can get Jem and Scout through it without bitterness, and most ofall, without catching Maycomb's usual disease. Why reasonable peoplego stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up, issomething I don't pretend to understand… I just hope that Jem andScout come to me for their answers instead of listening to the town. Ihope they trust me enough… Jean Louise?"My scalp jumped. I stuck my head around the corner. "Sir?""Go to bed."I scurried to my room and went to bed. Uncle Jack was a prince ofa fellow not to let me down. But I never figured out how Atticusknew I was listening, and it was not until many years later that Irealized he wanted me to hear every word he said.

　　10Atticus was feeble: he was nearly fifty. When Jem and I asked himwhy he was so old, he said he got started late, which we feltreflected upon his abilities and manliness. He was much older than theparents of our school contemporaries, and there was nothing Jem or Icould say about him when our classmates said, "My father-"Jem was football crazy. Atticus was never too tired to playkeep-away, but when Jem wanted to tackle him Atticus would say, "I'mtoo old for that, son."Our father didn't do anything. He worked in an office, not in adrugstore. Atticus did not drive a dump-truck for the county, he wasnot the sheriff, he did not farm, work in a garage, or do anythingthat could possibly arouse the admiration of anyone.

　　Besides that, he wore glasses. He was nearly blind in his lefteye, and said left eyes were the tribal curse of the Finches. Wheneverhe wanted to see something well, he turned his head and looked fromhis right eye.

　　He did not do the things our schoolmates' fathers did: he never wenthunting, he did not play poker or fish or drink or smoke. He sat inthe livingroom and read.

　　With these attributes, however, he would not remain as inconspicuousas we wished him to: that year, the school buzzed with talk abouthim defending Tom Robinson, none of which was complimentary. Aftermy bout with Cecil Jacobs when I committed myself to a policy ofcowardice, word got around that Scout Finch wouldn't fight any more,her daddy wouldn't let her. This was not entirely correct: Iwouldn't fight publicly for Atticus, but the family was privateground. I would fight anyone from a third cousin upwards tooth andnail. Francis Hancock, for example, knew that.

　　When he gave us our air-rifles Atticus wouldn't teach us to shoot.

　　Uncle Jack instructed us in the rudiments thereof; he said Atticuswasn't interested in guns. Atticus said to Jem one day, "I'd ratheryou shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you'll go afterbirds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, butremember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to dosomething, and I asked Miss Maudie about it.

　　"Your father's right," she said. "Mockingbirds don't do one thingbut make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens,don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their heartsout for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.""Miss Maudie, this is an old neighborhood, ain't it?""Been here longer than the town.""Nome, I mean the folks on our street are all old. Jem and me'sthe only children around here. Mrs. Dubose is close on to a hundredand Miss Rachel's old and so are you and Atticus.""I don't call fifty very old," said Miss Maudie tartly. "Not beingwheeled around yet, am I? Neither's your father. But I must sayProvidence was kind enough to burn down that old mausoleum of mine,I'm too old to keep it up- maybe you're right, Jean Louise, this isa settled neighborhood. You've never been around young folks much,have you?""Yessum, at school.""I mean young grown-ups. You're lucky, you know. You and Jem havethe benefit of your father's age. If your father was thirty you'd findlife quite different.""I sure would. Atticus can't do anything…""You'd be surprised," said Miss Maudie. "There's life in him yet.""What can he do?""Well, he can make somebody's will so airtight can't anybodymeddle with it.""Shoot…""Well, did you know he's the best checker-player in this town?

　　Why, down at the Landing when we were coming up, Atticus Finch couldbeat everybody on both sides of the river.""Good Lord, Miss Maudie, Jem and me beat him all the time.""It's about time you found out it's because he lets you. Did youknow he can play a Jew's Harp?"This modest accomplishment served to make me even more ashamed ofhim.

　　"Well…" she said.

　　"Well, what, Miss Maudie?""Well nothing. Nothing- it seems with all that you'd be proud ofhim. Can't everybody play a Jew's Harp. Now keep out of the way of thecarpenters. You'd better go home, I'll be in my azaleas and can'twatch you. Plank might hit you."I went to the back yard and found Jem plugging away at a tin can,which seemed stupid with all the bluejays around. I returned to thefront yard and busied myself for two hours erecting a complicatedbreastworks at the side of the porch, consisting of a tire, anorange crate, the laundry hamper, the porch chairs, and a small U.S.

　　flag Jem gave me from a popcorn box.

　　When Atticus came home to dinner he found me crouched down aimingacross the street. "What are you shooting at?""Miss Maudie's rear end."Atticus turned and saw my generous target bending over her bushes.

　　He pushed his hat to the back of his head and crossed the street.

　　"Maudie," he called, "I thought I'd better warn you. You're inconsiderable peril."Miss Maudie straightened up and looked toward me. She said,"Atticus, you are a devil from hell."When Atticus returned he told me to break camp. "Don't you everlet me catch you pointing that gun at anybody again," he said.

　　I wished my father was a devil from hell. I sounded out Calpurnia onthe subject. "Mr. Finch? Why, he can do lots of things.""Like what?" I asked.

　　Calpurnia scratched her head. "Well, I don't rightly know," shesaid.

　　Jem underlined it when he asked Atticus if he was going out forthe Methodists and Atticus said he'd break his neck if he did, hewas just too old for that sort of thing. The Methodists were trying topay off their church mortgage, and had challenged the Baptists to agame of touch football. Everybody in town's father was playing, itseemed, except Atticus. Jem said he didn't even want to go, but he wasunable to resist football in any form, and he stood gloomily on thesidelines with Atticus and me watching Cecil Jacobs's father maketouchdowns for the Baptists.

　　One Saturday Jem and I decided to go exploring with our air-riflesto see if we could find a rabbit or a squirrel. We had gone about fivehundred yards beyond the Radley Place when I noticed Jem squintingat something down the street. He had turned his head to one side andwas looking out of the corners of his eyes.

　　"Whatcha looking at?""That old dog down yonder," he said.

　　"That's old Tim Johnson, ain't it?""Yeah."Tim Johnson was the property of Mr. Harry Johnson who drove theMobile bus and lived on the southern edge of town. Tim was aliver-colored bird dog, the pet of Maycomb.

　　"What's he doing?""I don't know, Scout. We better go home.""Aw Jem, it's February.""I don't care, I'm gonna tell Cal."We raced home and ran to the kitchen.

　　"Cal," said Jem, "can you come down the sidewalk a minute?""What for, Jem? I can't come down the sidewalk every time you wantme.""There's somethin' wrong with an old dog down yonder."Calpurnia sighed. "I can't wrap up any dog's foot now. There'ssome gauze in the bathroom, go get it and do it yourself."Jem shook his head. "He's sick, Cal. Something's wrong with him.""What's he doin', trying to catch his tail?""No, he's doin' like this."Jem gulped like a goldfish, hunched his shoulders and twitched historso. "He's goin' like that, only not like he means to.""Are you telling me a story, Jem Finch?" Calpurnia's voice hardened.

　　"No Cal, I swear I'm not.""Was he runnin'?""No, he's just moseyin' along, so slow you can't hardly tell it.

　　He's comin' this way."Calpurnia rinsed her hands and followed Jem into the yard. "Idon't see any dog," she said.

　　She followed us beyond the Radley Place and looked where Jempointed. Tim Johnson was not much more than a speck in the distance,but he was closer to us. He walked erratically, as if his right legswere shorter than his left legs. He reminded me of a car stuck in asandbed.

　　"He's gone lopsided," said Jem.

　　Calpurnia stared, then grabbed us by the shoulders and ran ushome. She shut the wood door behind us, went to the telephone andshouted, "Gimme Mr. Finch's office!""Mr. Finch!" she shouted. "This is Cal. I swear to God there's a maddog down the street a piece- he's comin' this way, yes sir, he's-Mr. Finch, I declare he is- old Tim Johnson, yes sir… yessir…yes-"She hung up and shook her head when we tried to ask her what Atticushad said. She rattled the telephone hook and said, "Miss Eula May- nowma'am, I'm through talkin' to Mr. Finch, please don't connect me nomore- listen, Miss Eula May, can you call Miss Rachel and MissStephanie Crawford and whoever's got a phone on this street and tell'em a mad dog's comin'? Please ma'am!"Calpurnia listened. "I know it's February, Miss Eula May, but I knowa mad dog when I see one. Please ma'am hurry!"Calpurnia asked Jem, "Radleys got a phone?"Jem looked in the book and said no. "They won't come out anyway,Cal.""I don't care, I'm gonna tell 'em."She ran to the front porch, Jem and I at her heels. "You stay inthat house!" she yelled.

　　Calpurnia's message had been received by the neighborhood. Everywood door within our range of vision was closed tight. We saw no traceof Tim Johnson. We watched Calpurnia running toward the RadleyPlace, holding her skirt and apron above her knees. She went up to thefront steps and banged on the door. She got no answer, and sheshouted, "Mr. Nathan, Mr. Arthur, mad dog's comin'! Mad dog's comin'!""She's supposed to go around in back," I said.

　　Jem shook his head. "Don't make any difference now," he said.

　　Calpurnia pounded on the door in vain. No one acknowledged herwarning; no one seemed to have heard it.

　　As Calpurnia sprinted to the back porch a black Ford swung intothe driveway. Atticus and Mr. Heck Tate got out.

　　Mr. Heck Tate was the sheriff of Maycomb County. He was as tall asAtticus, but thinner. He was long-nosed, wore boots with shiny metaleye-holes, boot pants and a lumber jacket. His belt had a row ofbullets sticking in it. He carried a heavy rifle. When he andAtticus reached the porch, Jem opened the door.

　　"Stay inside, son," said Atticus. "Where is he, Cal?""He oughta be here by now," said Calpurnia, pointing down thestreet.

　　"Not runnin', is he?" asked Mr. Tate.

　　"Naw sir, he's in the twitchin' stage, Mr. Heck.""Should we go after him, Heck?" asked Atticus.

　　"We better wait, Mr. Finch. They usually go in a straight line,but you never can tell. He might follow the curve- hope he does orhe'll go straight in the Radley back yard. Let's wait a minute.""Don't think he'll get in the Radley yard," said Atticus.

　　"Fence'll stop him. He'll probably follow the road…"I thought mad dogs foamed at the mouth, galloped, leaped andlunged at throats, and I thought they did it in August. Had TimJohnson behaved thus, I would have been less frightened.

　　Nothing is more deadly than a deserted, waiting street. The treeswere still, the mockingbirds were silent, the carpenters at MissMaudie's house had vanished. I heard Mr. Tate sniff, then blow hisnose. I saw him shift his gun to the crook of his arm. I saw MissStephanie Crawford's face framed in the glass window of her frontdoor. Miss Maudie appeared and stood beside her. Atticus put hisfoot on the rung of a chair and rubbed his hand slowly down the sideof his thigh.

　　"There he is," he said softly.

　　Tim Johnson came into sight, walking dazedly in the inner rim of thecurve parallel to the Radley house.

　　"Look at him," whispered Jem. "Mr. Heck said they walked in astraight line. He can't even stay in the road.""He looks more sick than anything," I said.

　　"Let anything get in front of him and he'll come straight at it."Mr. Tate put his hand to his forehead and leaned forward. "He'sgot it all right, Mr. Finch."Tim Johnson was advancing at a snail's pace, but he was notplaying or sniffing at foliage: he seemed dedicated to one courseand motivated by an invisible force that was inching him toward us. Wecould see him shiver like a horse shedding flies; his jaw opened andshut; he was alist, but he was being pulled gradually toward us.

　　"He's lookin' for a place to die," said Jem.

　　Mr. Tate turned around. "He's far from dead, Jem, he hasn't gotstarted yet."Tim Johnson reached the side street that ran in front of theRadley Place, and what remained of his poor mind made him pause andseem to consider which road he would take. He made a few hesitantsteps and stopped in front of the Radley gate; then he tried to turnaround, but was having difficulty.

　　Atticus said, "He's within range, Heck. You better get him before hegoes down the side street- Lord knows who's around the corner. Goinside, Cal."Calpurnia opened the screen door, latched it behind her, thenunlatched it and held onto the hook. She tried to block Jem and mewith her body, but we looked out from beneath her arms.

　　"Take him, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate handed the rifle to Atticus; Jem andI nearly fainted.

　　"Don't waste time, Heck," said Atticus. "Go on.""Mr. Finch, this is a one-shot job."Atticus shook his head vehemently: "Don't just stand there, Heck! Hewon't wait all day for you-""For God's sake, Mr. Finch, look where he is! Miss and you'll gostraight into the Radley house! I can't shoot that well and you knowit!""I haven't shot a gun in thirty years-"Mr. Tate almost threw the rifle at Atticus. "I'd feel mightycomfortable if you did now," he said.

　　In a fog, Jem and I watched our father take the gun and walk outinto the middle of the street. He walked quickly, but I thought hemoved like an underwater swimmer: time had slowed to a nauseatingcrawl.

　　When Atticus raised his glasses Calpurnia murmured, "Sweet Jesushelp him," and put her hands to her cheeks.

　　Atticus pushed his glasses to his forehead; they slipped down, andhe dropped them in the street. In the silence, I heard them crack.

　　Atticus rubbed his eyes and chin; we saw him blink hard.

　　In front of the Radley gate, Tim Johnson had made up what was leftof his mind. He had finally turned himself around, to pursue hisoriginal course up our street. He made two steps forward, then stoppedand raised his head. We saw his body go rigid.

　　With movements so swift they seemed simultaneous, Atticus's handyanked a ball-tipped lever as he brought the gun to his shoulder.

　　The rifle cracked. Tim Johnson leaped, flopped over and crumpledon the sidewalk in a brown-and-white heap. He didn't know what hithim.

　　Mr. Tate jumped off the porch and ran to the Radley Place. Hestopped in front of the dog, squatted, turned around and tapped hisfinger on his forehead above his left eye. "You were a little to theright, Mr. Finch," he called.

　　"Always was," answered Atticus. "If I had my 'druthers I'd take ashotgun."He stooped and picked up his glasses, ground the broken lenses topowder under his heel, and went to Mr. Tate and stood looking downat Tim Johnson.

　　Doors opened one by one, and the neighborhood slowly came alive.

　　Miss Maudie walked down the steps with Miss Stephanie Crawford.

　　Jem was paralyzed. I pinched him to get him moving, but when Atticussaw us coming he called, "Stay where you are."When Mr. Tate and Atticus returned to the yard, Mr. Tate wassmiling. "I'll have Zeebo collect him," he said. "You haven't forgotmuch, Mr. Finch. They say it never leaves you."Atticus was silent.

　　"Atticus?" said Jem.

　　"Yes?""Nothin'.""I saw that, One-Shot Finch!"Atticus wheeled around and faced Miss Maudie. They looked at oneanother without saying anything, and Atticus got into the sheriff'scar. "Come here," he said to Jem. "Don't you go near that dog, youunderstand? Don't go near him, he's just as dangerous dead as alive.""Yes sir," said Jem. "Atticus-""What, son?""Nothing.""What's the matter with you, boy, can't you talk?" said Mr. Tate,grinning at Jem. "Didn't you know your daddy's-""Hush, Heck," said Atticus, "let's go back to town."When they drove away, Jem and I went to Miss Stephanie's frontsteps. We sat waiting for Zeebo to arrive in the garbage truck.

　　Jem sat in numb confusion, and Miss Stephanie said, "Uh, uh, uh,who'da thought of a mad dog in February? Maybe he wadn't mad, maybe hewas just crazy. I'd hate to see Harry Johnson's face when he gets infrom the Mobile run and finds Atticus Finch's shot his dog. Bet he wasjust full of fleas from somewhere-"Miss Maudie said Miss Stephanie'd be singing a different tune if TimJohnson was still coming up the street, that they'd find out soonenough, they'd send his head to Montgomery.

　　Jem became vaguely articulate: "'d you see him, Scout? 'd you seehim just standin' there?… 'n' all of a sudden he just relaxed allover, an' it looked like that gun was a part of him… an' he did itso quick, like… I hafta aim for ten minutes 'fore I can hitsomethin'…"Miss Maudie grinned wickedly. "Well now, Miss Jean Louise," shesaid, "still think your father can't do anything? Still ashamed ofhim?""Nome," I said meekly.

　　"Forgot to tell you the other day that besides playing the Jew'sHarp, Atticus Finch was the deadest shot in Maycomb County in histime.""Dead shot…" echoed Jem.

　　"That's what I said, Jem Finch. Guess you'll change your tune now.

　　The very idea, didn't you know his nickname was Ol' One-Shot when hewas a boy? Why, down at the Landing when he was coming up, if heshot fifteen times and hit fourteen doves he'd complain aboutwasting ammunition.""He never said anything about that," Jem muttered.

　　"Never said anything about it, did he?""No ma'am.""Wonder why he never goes huntin' now," I said.

　　"Maybe I can tell you," said Miss Maudie. "If your father'sanything, he's civilized in his heart. Marksmanship's a gift of God, atalent- oh, you have to practice to make it perfect, but shootin'sdifferent from playing the piano or the like. I think maybe he put hisgun down when he realized that God had given him an unfair advantageover most living things. I guess he decided he wouldn't shoot tillhe had to, and he had to today.""Looks like he'd be proud of it," I said.

　　"People in their right minds never take pride in their talents,"said Miss Maudie.

　　We saw Zeebo drive up. He took a pitchfork from the back of thegarbage truck and gingerly lifted Tim Johnson. He pitched the dog ontothe truck, then poured something from a gallon jug on and around thespot where Tim fell. "Don't yawl come over here for a while," hecalled.

　　When we went home I told Jem we'd really have something to talkabout at school on Monday. Jem turned on me.

　　"Don't say anything about it, Scout," he said.

　　"What? I certainly am. Ain't everybody's daddy the deadest shot inMaycomb County."Jem said, "I reckon if he'd wanted us to know it, he'da told us.

　　If he was proud of it, he'da told us.""Maybe it just slipped his mind," I said.

　　"Naw, Scout, it's something you wouldn't understand. Atticus is realold, but I wouldn't care if he couldn't do anything- I wouldn't careif he couldn't do a blessed thing."Jem picked up a rock and threw it jubilantly at the carhouse.

　　Running after it, he called back: "Atticus is a gentleman, just likeme!"11When we were small, Jem and I confined our activities to thesouthern neighborhood, but when I was well into the second grade atschool and tormenting Boo Radley became passe, the business section ofMaycomb drew us frequently up the street past the real property ofMrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose. It was impossible to go to town withoutpassing her house unless we wished to walk a mile out of the way.

　　Previous minor encounters with her left me with no desire for more,but Jem said I had to grow up some time.

　　Mrs. Dubose lived alone except for a Negro girl in constantattendance, two doors up the street from us in a house with steepfront steps and a dog-trot hall. She was very old; she spent most ofeach day in bed and the rest of it in a wheelchair. It was rumoredthat she kept a CSA pistol concealed among her numerous shawls andwraps.

　　Jem and I hated her. If she was on the porch when we passed, wewould be raked by her wrathful gaze, subjected to ruthlessinterrogation regarding our behavior, and given a melancholyprediction on what we would amount to when we grew up, which wasalways nothing. We had long ago given up the idea of walking pasther house on the opposite side of the street; that only made her raiseher voice and let the whole neighborhood in on it.

　　We could do nothing to please her. If I said as sunnily as Icould, "Hey, Mrs. Dubose," I would receive for an answer, "Don't yousay hey to me, you ugly girl! You say good afternoon, Mrs. Dubose!"She was vicious. Once she heard Jem refer to our father as "Atticus"and her reaction was apoplectic. Besides being the sassiest, mostdisrespectful mutts who ever passed her way, we were told that itwas quite a pity our father had not remarried after our mother'sdeath. A lovelier lady than our mother never lived, she said, and itwas heartbreaking the way Atticus Finch let her children run wild. Idid not remember our mother, but Jem did- he would tell me about hersometimes- and he went livid when Mrs. Dubose shot us this message.

　　Jem, having survived Boo Radley, a mad dog and other terrors, hadconcluded that it was cowardly to stop at Miss Rachel's front stepsand wait, and had decreed that we must run as far as the post officecorner each evening to meet Atticus coming from work. Countlessevenings Atticus would find Jem furious at something Mrs. Dubose hadsaid when we went by.

　　"Easy does it, son," Atticus would say. "She's an old lady and she'sill. You just hold your head high and be a gentleman. Whatever shesays to you, it's your job not to let her make you mad."Jem would say she must not be very sick, she hollered so. When thethree of us came to her house, Atticus would sweep off his hat, wavegallantly to her and say, "Good evening, Mrs. Dubose! You look likea picture this evening."I never heard Atticus say like a picture of what. He would tellher the courthouse news, and would say he hoped with all his heartshe'd have a good day tomorrow. He would return his hat to his head,swing me to his shoulders in her very presence, and we would go homein the twilight. It was times like these when I thought my father, whohated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man whoever lived.

　　The day after Jem's twelfth birthday his money was burning up hispockets, so we headed for town in the early afternoon. Jem thoughthe had enough to buy a miniature steam engine for himself and atwirling baton for me.

　　I had long had my eye on that baton: it was at V. J. Elmore's, itwas bedecked with sequins and tinsel, it cost seventeen cents. Itwas then my burning ambition to grow up and twirl with the MaycombCounty High School band. Having developed my talent to where I couldthrow up a stick and almost catch it coming down, I had causedCalpurnia to deny me entrance to the house every time she saw mewith a stick in my hand. I felt that I could overcome this defect witha real baton, and I thought it generous of Jem to buy one for me.

　　Mrs. Dubose was stationed on her porch when we went by.

　　"Where are you two going at this time of day?" she shouted. "Playinghooky, I suppose. I'll just call up the principal and tell him!" Sheput her hands on the wheels of her chair and executed a perfectright face.

　　"Aw, it's Saturday, Mrs. Dubose," said Jem.

　　"Makes no difference if it's Saturday," she said obscurely. "Iwonder if your father knows where you are?""Mrs. Dubose, we've been goin' to town by ourselves since we werethis high." Jem placed his hand palm down about two feet above thesidewalk.

　　"Don't you lie to me!" she yelled. "Jeremy Finch, Maudie Atkinsontold me you broke down her scuppernong arbor this morning. She's goingto tell your father and then you'll wish you never saw the light ofday! If you aren't sent to the reform school before next week, myname's not Dubose!"Jem, who hadn't been near Miss Maudie's scuppernong arbor since lastsummer, and who knew Miss Maudie wouldn't tell Atticus if he had,issued a general denial.

　　"Don't you contradict me!" Mrs. Dubose bawled. "And you-" shepointed an arthritic finger at me- "what are you doing in thoseoveralls? You should be in a dress and camisole, young lady! You'llgrow up waiting on tables if somebody doesn't change your ways- aFinch waiting on tables at the O.K. Cafe- hah!"I was terrified. The O.K. Cafe was a dim organization on the northside of the square. I grabbed Jem's hand but he shook me loose.

　　"Come on, Scout," he whispered. "Don't pay any attention to her,just hold your head high and be a gentleman."But Mrs. Dubose held us: "Not only a Finch waiting on tables but onein the courthouse lawing for niggers!"Jem stiffened. Mrs. Dubose's shot had gone home and she knew it:

　　"Yes indeed, what has this world come to when a Finch goes againsthis raising? I'll tell you!" She put her hand to her mouth. When shedrew it away, it trailed a long silver thread of saliva. "Yourfather's no better than the niggers and trash he works for!"Jem was scarlet. I pulled at his sleeve, and we were followed up thesidewalk by a philippic on our family's moral degeneration, themajor premise of which was that half the Finches were in the asylumanyway, but if our mother were living we would not have come to such astate.

　　I wasn't sure what Jem resented most, but I took umbrage at Mrs.

　　Dubose's assessment of the family's mental hygiene. I had becomealmost accustomed to hearing insults aimed at Atticus. But this wasthe first one coming from an adult. Except for her remarks aboutAtticus, Mrs. Dubose's attack was only routine. There was a hint ofsummer in the air- in the shadows it was cool, but the sun was warm,which meant good times coming: no school and Dill.

　　Jem bought his steam engine and we went by Elmore's for my baton.

　　Jem took no pleasure in his acquisition; he jammed it in his pocketand walked silently beside me toward home. On the way home I nearlyhit Mr. Link Deas, who said, "Look out now, Scout!" when I missed atoss, and when we approached Mrs. Dubose's house my baton was grimyfrom having picked it up out of the dirt so many times.

　　She was not on the porch.

　　In later years, I sometimes wondered exactly what made Jem do it,what made him break the bonds of "You just be a gentleman, son," andthe phase of self-conscious rectitude he had recently entered. Jem hadprobably stood as much guff about Atticus lawing for niggers as had I,and I took it for granted that he kept his temper- he had anaturally tranquil disposition and a slow fuse. At the time,however, I thought the only explanation for what he did was that for afew minutes he simply went mad.

　　What Jem did was something I'd do as a matter of course had I notbeen under Atticus's interdict, which I assumed included notfighting horrible old ladies. We had just come to her gate when Jemsnatched my baton and ran flailing wildly up the steps into Mrs.

　　Dubose's front yard, forgetting everything Atticus had said,forgetting that she packed a pistol under her shawls, forgettingthat if Mrs. Dubose missed, her girl Jessie probably wouldn't.

　　He did not begin to calm down until he had cut the tops off everycamellia bush Mrs. Dubose owned, until the ground was littered withgreen buds and leaves. He bent my baton against his knee, snapped itin two and threw it down.

　　By that time I was shrieking. Jem yanked my hair, said he didn'tcare, he'd do it again if he got a chance, and if I didn't shut uphe'd pull every hair out of my head. I didn't shut up and he kickedme. I lost my balance and fell on my face. Jem picked me up roughlybut looked like he was sorry. There was nothing to say.

　　We did not choose to meet Atticus coming home that evening. Weskulked around the kitchen until Calpurnia threw us out. By somevoo-doo system Calpurnia seemed to know all about it. She was a lessthan satisfactory source of palliation, but she did give Jem a hotbiscuit-and-butter which he tore in half and shared with me. It tastedlike cotton.

　　We went to the livingroom. I picked up a football magazine, founda picture of Dixie Howell, showed it to Jem and said, "This looks likeyou." That was the nicest thing I could think to say to him, but itwas no help. He sat by the windows, hunched down in a rocking chair,scowling, waiting. Daylight faded.

　　Two geological ages later, we heard the soles of Atticus's shoesscrape the front steps. The screen door slammed, there was a pause-Atticus was at the hat rack in the hall- and we heard him call, "Jem!"His voice was like the winter wind.

　　Atticus switched on the ceiling light in the livingroom and found usthere, frozen still. He carried my baton in one hand; its filthyyellow tassel trailed on the rug. He held out his other hand; itcontained fat camellia buds.

　　"Jem," he said, "are you responsible for this?""Yes sir.""Why'd you do it?"Jem said softly, "She said you lawed for niggers and trash.""You did this because she said that?"Jem's lips moved, but his, "Yes sir," was inaudible.

　　"Son, I have no doubt that you've been annoyed by yourcontemporaries about me lawing for niggers, as you say, but to dosomething like this to a sick old lady is inexcusable. I stronglyadvise you to go down and have a talk with Mrs. Dubose," said Atticus.

　　"Come straight home afterward."Jem did not move.

　　"Go on, I said."I followed Jem out of the livingroom. "Come back here," Atticus saidto me. I came back.

　　Atticus picked up the Mobile Press and sat down in the rockingchair Jem had vacated. For the life of me, I did not understand how hecould sit there in cold blood and read a newspaper when his only sonstood an excellent chance of being murdered with a Confederate Armyrelic. Of course Jem antagonized me sometimes until I could killhim, but when it came down to it he was all I had. Atticus did notseem to realize this, or if he did he didn't care.

　　I hated him for that, but when you are in trouble you becomeeasily tired: soon I was hiding in his lap and his arms were aroundme.

　　"You're mighty big to be rocked," he said.

　　"You don't care what happens to him," I said. "You just send himon to get shot at when all he was doin' was standin' up for you."Atticus pushed my head under his chin. "It's not time to worry yet,"he said. "I never thought Jem'd be the one to lose his head over this-thought I'd have more trouble with you."I said I didn't see why we had to keep our heads anyway, that nobodyI knew at school had to keep his head about anything.

　　"Scout," said Atticus, "when summer comes you'll have to keep yourhead about far worse things… it's not fair for you and Jem, I knowthat, but sometimes we have to make the best of things, and the way weconduct ourselves when the chips are down- well, all I can say is,when you and Jem are grown, maybe you'll look back on this with somecompassion and some feeling that I didn't let you down. This case, TomRobinson's case, is something that goes to the essence of a man'sconscience- Scout, I couldn't go to church and worship God if I didn'ttry to help that man.""Atticus, you must be wrong…""How's that?""Well, most folks seem to think they're right and you're wrong…""They're certainly entitled to think that, and they're entitled tofull respect for their opinions," said Atticus, "but before I can livewith other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing thatdoesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience."When Jem returned, he found me still in Atticus's lap, "Well,son?" said Atticus. He set me on my feet, and I made a secretreconnaissance of Jem. He seemed to be all in one piece, but he hada queer look on his face. Perhaps she had given him a dose of calomel.

　　"I cleaned it up for her and said I was sorry, but I ain't, and thatI'd work on 'em ever Saturday and try to make 'em grow back out.""There was no point in saying you were sorry if you aren't," saidAtticus. "Jem, she's old and ill. You can't hold her responsible forwhat she says and does. Of course, I'd rather she'd have said it to methan to either of you, but we can't always have our 'druthers."Jem seemed fascinated by a rose in the carpet. "Atticus," he said,"she wants me to read to her.""Read to her?""Yes sir. She wants me to come every afternoon after school andSaturdays and read to her out loud for two hours. Atticus, do I haveto?""Certainly.""But she wants me to do it for a month.""Then you'll do it for a month."Jem planted his big toe delicately in the center of the rose andpressed it in. Finally he said, "Atticus, it's all right on thesidewalk but inside it's- it's all dark and creepy. There's shadowsand things on the ceiling…"Atticus smiled grimly. "That should appeal to your imagination. Justpretend you're inside the Radley house."The following Monday afternoon Jem and I climbed the steep frontsteps to Mrs. Dubose's house and padded down the open hallway. Jem,armed with Ivanhoe and full of superior knowledge, knocked at thesecond door on the left.

　　"Mrs. Dubose?" he called.

　　Jessie opened the wood door and unlatched the screen door.

　　"Is that you, Jem Finch?" she said. "You got your sister with you. Idon't know-""Let 'em both in, Jessie," said Mrs. Dubose. Jessie admitted usand went off to the kitchen.

　　An oppressive odor met us when we crossed the threshold, an odor Ihad met many times in rain-rotted gray houses where there are coal-oillamps, water dippers, and unbleached domestic sheets. It always mademe afraid, expectant, watchful.

　　In the corner of the room was a brass bed, and in the bed was Mrs.

　　Dubose. I wondered if Jem's activities had put her there, and for amoment I felt sorry for her. She was lying under a pile of quiltsand looked almost friendly.

　　There was a marble-topped washstand by her bed; on it were a glasswith a teaspoon in it, a red ear syringe, a box of absorbent cotton,and a steel alarm clock standing on three tiny legs.

　　"So you brought that dirty little sister of yours, did you?" was hergreeting.

　　Jem said quietly, "My sister ain't dirty and I ain't scared of you,"although I noticed his knees shaking.

　　I was expecting a tirade, but all she said was, "You may commencereading, Jeremy."Jem sat down in a cane-bottom chair and opened Ivanhoe. I pulledup another one and sat beside him.

　　"Come closer," said Mrs. Dubose. "Come to the side of the bed."We moved our chairs forward. This was the nearest I had ever been toher, and the thing I wanted most to do was move my chair back again.

　　She was horrible. Her face was the color of a dirty pillowcase,and the corners of her mouth glistened with wet, which inched like aglacier down the deep grooves enclosing her chin. Old-age liverspots dotted her cheeks, and her pale eyes had black pinpointpupils. Her hands were knobby, and the cuticles were grown up over herfingernails. Her bottom plate was not in, and her upper lip protruded;from time to time she would draw her nether lip to her upper plate andcarry her chin with it. This made the wet move faster.

　　I didn't look any more than I had to. Jem reopened Ivanhoe andbegan reading. I tried to keep up with him, but he read too fast. WhenJem came to a word he didn't know, he skipped it, but Mrs. Dubosewould catch him and make him spell it out. Jem read for perhaps twentyminutes, during which time I looked at the soot-stained mantelpiece,out the window, anywhere to keep from looking at her. As he readalong, I noticed that Mrs. Dubose's corrections grew fewer and fartherbetween, that Jem had even left one sentence dangling in mid-air.

　　She was not listening.

　　I looked toward the bed.

　　Something had happened to her. She lay on her back, with thequilts up to her chin. Only her head and shoulders were visible. Herhead moved slowly from side to side. From time to time she wouldopen her mouth wide, and I could see her tongue undulate faintly.

　　Cords of saliva would collect on her lips; she would draw them in,then open her mouth again. Her mouth seemed to have a privateexistence of its own. It worked separate and apart from the rest ofher, out and in, like a clam hole at low tide. Occasionally it wouldsay, "Pt," like some viscous substance coming to a boil.

　　I pulled Jem's sleeve.

　　He looked at me, then at the bed. Her head made its regular sweeptoward us, and Jem said, "Mrs. Dubose, are you all right?" She did nothear him.

　　The alarm clock went off and scared us stiff. A minute later, nervesstill tingling, Jem and I were on the sidewalk headed for home. We didnot run away, Jessie sent us: before the clock wound down she was inthe room pushing Jem and me out of it.

　　"Shoo," she said, "you all go home."Jem hesitated at the door.

　　"It's time for her medicine," Jessie said. As the door swung shutbehind us I saw Jessie walking quickly toward Mrs. Dubose's bed.

　　It was only three forty-five when we got home, so Jem and Idrop-kicked in the back yard until it was time to meet Atticus.

　　Atticus had two yellow pencils for me and a football magazine for Jem,which I suppose was a silent reward for our first day's session withMrs. Dubose. Jem told him what happened.

　　"Did she frighten you?" asked Atticus.

　　"No sir," said Jem, "but she's so nasty. She has fits orsomethin'. She spits a lot.""She can't help that. When people are sick they don't look nicesometimes.""She scared me," I said.

　　Atticus looked at me over his glasses. "You don't have to go withJem, you know."The next afternoon at Mrs. Dubose's was the same as the first, andso was the next, until gradually a pattern emerged: everything wouldbegin normally- that is, Mrs. Dubose would hound Jem for a while onher favorite subjects, her camellias and our father's nigger-lovingpropensities; she would grow increasingly silent, then go away fromus. The alarm clock would ring, Jessie would shoo us out, and the restof the day was ours.

　　"Atticus," I said one evening, "what exactly is a nigger-lover?"Atticus's face was grave. "Has somebody been calling you that?""No sir, Mrs. Dubose calls you that. She warms up every afternooncalling you that. Francis called me that last Christmas, that'swhere I first heard it.""Is that the reason you jumped on him?" asked Atticus.

　　"Yes sir…""Then why are you asking me what it means?"I tried to explain to Atticus that it wasn't so much what Francissaid that had infuriated me as the way he had said it. "It was likehe'd said snot-nose or somethin'.""Scout," said Atticus, "nigger-lover is just one of those terms thatdon't mean anything- like snot-nose. It's hard to explain- ignorant,trashy people use it when they think somebody's favoring Negroesover and above themselves. It's slipped into usage with some peoplelike ourselves, when they want a common, ugly term to label somebody.""You aren't really a nigger-lover, then, are you?""I certainly am. I do my best to love everybody… I'm hard put,sometimes- baby, it's never an insult to be called what somebodythinks is a bad name. It just shows you how poor that person is, itdoesn't hurt you. So don't let Mrs. Dubose get you down. She hasenough troubles of her own."One afternoon a month later Jem was ploughing his way through SirWalter Scout, as Jem called him, and Mrs. Dubose was correcting him atevery turn, when there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" shescreamed.

　　Atticus came in. He went to the bed and took Mrs. Dubose's hand.

　　"I was coming from the office and didn't see the children," he said.

　　"I thought they might still be here."Mrs. Dubose smiled at him. For the life of me I could not figure outhow she could bring herself to speak to him when she seemed to hatehim so. "Do you know what time it is, Atticus?" she said. "Exactlyfourteen minutes past five. The alarm clock's set for five-thirty. Iwant you to know that."It suddenly came to me that each day we had been staying a littlelonger at Mrs. Dubose's, that the alarm clock went off a few minuteslater every day, and that she was well into one of her fits by thetime it sounded. Today she had antagonized Jem for nearly two hourswith no intention of having a fit, and I felt hopelessly trapped.

　　The alarm clock was the signal for our release; if one day it didnot ring, what would we do?

　　"I have a feeling that Jem's reading days are numbered," saidAtticus.

　　"Only a week longer, I think," she said, "just to make sure…"Jem rose. "But-"Atticus put out his hand and Jem was silent. On the way home, Jemsaid he had to do it just for a month and the month was up and itwasn't fair.

　　"Just one more week, son," said Atticus.

　　"No," said Jem.

　　"Yes," said Atticus.

　　The following week found us back at Mrs. Dubose's. The alarm clockhad ceased sounding, but Mrs. Dubose would release us with, "That'lldo," so late in the afternoon Atticus would be home reading thepaper when we returned. Although her fits had passed off, she was inevery other way her old self: when Sir Walter Scott became involved inlengthy descriptions of moats and castles, Mrs. Dubose would becomebored and pick on us:

　　"Jeremy Finch, I told you you'd live to regret tearing up mycamellias. You regret it now, don't you?"Jem would say he certainly did.

　　"Thought you could kill my Snow-on-the-Mountain, did you? Well,Jessie says the top's growing back out. Next time you'll know how todo it right, won't you? You'll pull it up by the roots, won't you?"Jem would say he certainly would.

　　"Don't you mutter at me, boy! You hold up your head and say yesma'am. Don't guess you feel like holding it up, though, with yourfather what he is."Jem's chin would come up, and he would gaze at Mrs. Dubose with aface devoid of resentment. Through the weeks he had cultivated anexpression of polite and detached interest, which he would presentto her in answer to her most blood-curdling inventions.

　　At last the day came. When Mrs. Dubose said, "That'll do," oneafternoon, she added, "And that's all. Good-day to you."It was over. We bounded down the sidewalk on a spree of sheerrelief, leaping and howling.

　　That spring was a good one: the days grew longer and gave us moreplaying time. Jem's mind was occupied mostly with the vital statisticsof every college football player in the nation. Every night Atticuswould read us the sports pages of the newspapers. Alabama might goto the Rose Bowl again this year, judging from its prospects, notone of whose names we could pronounce. Atticus was in the middle ofWindy Seaton's column one evening when the telephone rang.

　　He answered it, then went to the hat rack in the hall. "I'm goingdown to Mrs. Dubose's for a while," he said. "I won't be long."But Atticus stayed away until long past my bedtime. When he returnedhe was carrying a candy box. Atticus sat down in the livingroom andput the box on the floor beside his chair.

　　"What'd she want?" asked Jem.

　　We had not seen Mrs. Dubose for over a month. She was never on theporch any more when we passed.

　　"She's dead, son," said Atticus. "She died a few minutes ago.""Oh," said Jem. "Well.""Well is right," said Atticus. "She's not suffering any more. Shewas sick for a long time. Son, didn't you know what her fits were?"Jem shook his head.

　　"Mrs. Dubose was a morphine addict," said Atticus. "She took it as apain-killer for years. The doctor put her on it. She'd have spentthe rest of her life on it and died without so much agony, but she wastoo contrary-""Sir?" said Jem.

　　Atticus said, "Just before your escapade she called me to make herwill. Dr. Reynolds told her she had only a few months left. Herbusiness affairs were in perfect order but she said, 'There's stillone thing out of order.'""What was that?" Jem was perplexed.

　　"She said she was going to leave this world beholden to nothingand nobody. Jem, when you're sick as she was, it's all right to takeanything to make it easier, but it wasn't all right for her. Shesaid she meant to break herself of it before she died, and that's whatshe did."Jem said, "You mean that's what her fits were?""Yes, that's what they were. Most of the time you were reading toher I doubt if she heard a word you said. Her whole mind and body wereconcentrated on that alarm clock. If you hadn't fallen into her hands,I'd have made you go read to her anyway. It may have been somedistraction. There was another reason-""Did she die free?" asked Jem.

　　"As the mountain air," said Atticus. "She was conscious to the last,almost. Conscious," he smiled, "and cantankerous. She stilldisapproved heartily of my doings, and said I'd probably spend therest of my life bailing you out of jail. She had Jessie fix you thisbox-"Atticus reached down and picked up the candy box. He handed it toJem.

　　Jem opened the box. Inside, surrounded by wads of damp cotton, was awhite, waxy, perfect camellia. It was a Snow-on-the-Mountain.

　　Jem's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Old hell-devil, oldhell-devil!" he screamed, flinging it down. "Why can't she leave mealone?"In a flash Atticus was up and standing over him. Jem buried his facein Atticus's shirt front. "Sh-h," he said. "I think that was her wayof telling you- everything's all right now, Jem, everything's allright. You know, she was a great lady.""A lady?" Jem raised his head. His face was scarlet. "After allthose things she said about you, a lady?""She was. She had her own views about things, a lot different frommine, maybe… son, I told you that if you hadn't lost your head I'dhave made you go read to her. I wanted you to see something about her-I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting theidea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when youknow you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you seeit through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.

　　Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her. According to herviews, she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the bravestperson I ever knew."Jem picked up the candy box and threw it in the fire. He picked upthe camellia, and when I went off to bed I saw him fingering thewide petals. Atticus was reading the paper.

　　PART TWO12Jem was twelve. He was difficult to live with, inconsistent,moody. His appetite was appalling, and he told me so many times tostop pestering him I consulted Atticus: "Reckon he's got atapeworm?" Atticus said no, Jem was growing. I must be patient withhim and disturb him as little as possible.

　　This change in Jem had come about in a matter of weeks. Mrs.

　　Dubose was not cold in her grave- Jem had seemed grateful enough formy company when he went to read to her. Overnight, it seemed, Jemhad acquired an alien set of values and was trying to impose them onme: several times he went so far as to tell me what to do. After onealtercation when Jem hollered, "It's time you started bein' a girl andacting right!" I burst into tears and fled to Calpurnia.

　　"Don't you fret too much over Mister Jem-" she began.

　　"Mister Jem?""Yeah, he's just about Mister Jem now.""He ain't that old," I said. "All he needs is somebody to beat himup, and I ain't big enough.""Baby," said Calpurnia, "I just can't help it if Mister Jem'sgrowin' up. He's gonna want to be off to himself a lot now, doin'

　　whatever boys do, so you just come right on in the kitchen when youfeel lonesome. We'll find lots of things to do in here."The beginning of that summer boded well: Jem could do as he pleased;Calpurnia would do until Dill came. She seemed glad to see me when Iappeared in the kitchen, and by watching her I began to think therewas some skill involved in being a girl.

　　But summer came and Dill was not there. I received a letter and asnapshot from him. The letter said he had a new father whose picturewas enclosed, and he would have to stay in Meridian because theyplanned to build a fishing boat. His father was a lawyer like Atticus,only much younger. Dill's new father had a pleasant face, which mademe glad Dill had captured him, but I was crushed. Dill concluded bysaying he would love me forever and not to worry, he would come get meand marry me as soon as he got enough money together, so please write.

　　The fact that I had a permanent fiance was little compensation forhis absence: I had never thought about it, but summer was Dill bythe fishpool smoking string, Dill's eyes alive with complicatedplans to make Boo Radley emerge; summer was the swiftness with whichDill would reach up and kiss me when Jem was not looking, the longingswe sometimes felt each other feel. With him, life was routine; withouthim, life was unbearable. I stayed miserable for two days.

　　As if that were not enough, the state legislature was called intoemergency session and Atticus left us for two weeks. The Governorwas eager to scrape a few barnacles off the ship of state; therewere sit-down strikes in Birmingham; bread lines in the cities grewlonger, people in the country grew poorer. But these were eventsremote from the world of Jem and me.

　　We were surprised one morning to see a cartoon in the MontgomeryAdvertiser above the caption, "Maycomb's Finch." It showed Atticusbarefooted and in short pants, chained to a desk: he was diligentlywriting on a slate while some frivolous-looking girls yelled,"Yoo-hoo!" at him.

　　"That's a compliment," explained Jem. "He spends his time doin'

　　things that wouldn't get done if nobody did 'em.""Huh?"In addition to Jem's newly developed characteristics, he hadacquired a maddening air of wisdom.

　　"Oh, Scout, it's like reorganizing the tax systems of the countiesand things. That kind of thing's pretty dry to most men.""How do you know?""Oh, go on and leave me alone. I'm readin' the paper."Jem got his wish. I departed for the kitchen.

　　While she was shelling peas, Calpurnia suddenly said, "What am Igonna do about you all's church this Sunday?""Nothing, I reckon. Atticus left us collection."Calpurnia's eyes narrowed and I could tell what was going throughher mind. "Cal," I said, "you know we'll behave. We haven't doneanything in church in years."Calpurnia evidently remembered a rainy Sunday when we were bothfatherless and teacherless. Left to its own devices, the class tiedEunice Ann Simpson to a chair and placed her in the furnace room. Weforgot her, trooped upstairs to church, and were listening quietlyto the sermon when a dreadful banging issued from the radiatorpipes, persisting until someone investigated and brought forthEunice Ann saying she didn't want to play Shadrach any more- Jem Finchsaid she wouldn't get burnt if she had enough faith, but it was hotdown there.

　　"Besides, Cal, this isn't the first time Atticus has left us," Iprotested.

　　"Yeah, but he makes certain your teacher's gonna be there. Ididn't hear him say this time- reckon he forgot it." Calpurniascratched her head. Suddenly she smiled. "How'd you and Mister Jemlike to come to church with me tomorrow?""Really?""How 'bout it?" grinned Calpurnia.

　　If Calpurnia had ever bathed me roughly before, it was nothingcompared to her supervision of that Saturday night's routine. She mademe soap all over twice, drew fresh water in the tub for each rinse;she stuck my head in the basin and washed it with Octagon soap andcastile. She had trusted Jem for years, but that night she invaded hisprivacy and provoked an outburst: "Can't anybody take a bath in thishouse without the whole family lookin'?"Next morning she began earlier than usual, to "go over our clothes."When Calpurnia stayed overnight with us she slept on a folding cotin the kitchen; that morning it was covered with our Sundayhabiliments. She had put so much starch in my dress it came up likea tent when I sat down. She made me wear a petticoat and she wrapped apink sash tightly around my waist. She went over my patent-leathershoes with a cold biscuit until she saw her face in them.

　　"It's like we were goin' to Mardi Gras," said Jem. "What's allthis for, Cal?""I don't want anybody sayin' I don't look after my children," shemuttered. "Mister Jem, you absolutely can't wear that tie with thatsuit. It's green.""'smatter with that?""Suit's blue. Can't you tell?""Hee hee," I howled, "Jem's color blind."His face flushed angrily, but Calpurnia said, "Now you all quitthat. You're gonna go to First Purchase with smiles on your faces."First Purchase African M.E. Church was in the Quarters outside thesouthern town limits, across the old sawmill tracks. It was an ancientpaint-peeled frame building, the only church in Maycomb with a steepleand bell, called First Purchase because it was paid for from the firstearnings of freed slaves. Negroes worshiped in it on Sundays and whitemen gambled in it on weekdays.

　　The churchyard was brick-hard clay, as was the cemetery beside it.

　　If someone died during a dry spell, the body was covered with chunksof ice until rain softened the earth. A few graves in the cemeterywere marked with crumbling tombstones; newer ones were outlined withbrightly colored glass and broken Coca-Cola bottles. Lightning rodsguarding some graves denoted dead who rested uneasily; stumps ofburned-out candles stood at the heads of infant graves. It was a happycemetery.

　　The warm bittersweet smell of clean Negro welcomed us as weentered the churchyard- Hearts of Love hairdressing mingled withasafoetida, snuff, Hoyt's Cologne, Brown's Mule, peppermint, and lilactalcum.

　　When they saw Jem and me with Calpurnia, the men stepped back andtook off their hats; the women crossed their arms at their waists,weekday gestures of respectful attention. They parted and made a smallpathway to the church door for us. Calpurnia walked between Jem andme, responding to the greetings of her brightly clad neighbors.

　　"What you up to, Miss Cal?" said a voice behind us.

　　Calpurnia's hands went to our shoulders and we stopped and lookedaround: standing in the path behind us was a tall Negro woman. Herweight was on one leg; she rested her left elbow in the curve of herhip, pointing at us with upturned palm. She was bullet-headed withstrange almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and an Indian-bow mouth.

　　She seemed seven feet high.

　　I felt Calpurnia's hand dig into my shoulder. "What you want, Lula?"she asked, in tones I had never heard her use. She spoke quietly,contemptuously.

　　"I wants to know why you bringin' white chillun to nigger church.""They's my comp'ny," said Calpurnia. Again I thought her voicestrange: she was talking like the rest of them.

　　"Yeah, an' I reckon you's comp'ny at the Finch house durin' theweek."A murmur ran through the crowd. "Don't you fret," Calpurniawhispered to me, but the roses on her hat trembled indignantly.

　　When Lula came up the pathway toward us Calpurnia said, "Stopright there, nigger."Lula stopped, but she said, "You ain't got no business bringin'

　　white chillun here- they got their church, we got our'n. It is ourchurch, ain't it, Miss Cal?"Calpurnia said, "It's the same God, ain't it?"Jem said, "Let's go home, Cal, they don't want us here-"I agreed: they did not want us here. I sensed, rather than saw, thatwe were being advanced upon. They seemed to be drawing closer to us,but when I looked up at Calpurnia there was amusement in her eyes.

　　When I looked down the pathway again, Lula was gone. In her placewas a solid mass of colored people.

　　One of them stepped from the crowd. It was Zeebo, the garbagecollector. "Mister Jem," he said, "we're mighty glad to have you allhere. Don't pay no 'tention to Lula, she's contentious becauseReverend Sykes threatened to church her. She's a troublemaker from wayback, got fancy ideas an' haughty ways- we're mighty glad to haveyou all."With that, Calpurnia led us to the church door where we were greetedby Reverend Sykes, who led us to the front pew.

　　First Purchase was unceiled and unpainted within. Along its wallsunlighted kerosene lamps hung on brass brackets; pine benches servedas pews. Behind the rough oak pulpit a faded pink silk bannerproclaimed God Is Love, the church's only decoration except arotogravure print of Hunt's The Light of the World. There was nosign of piano, organ, hymn-books, church programs- the familiarecclesiastical impedimenta we saw every Sunday. It was dim inside,with a damp coolness slowly dispelled by the gathering congregation.

　　At each seat was a cheap cardboard fan bearing a garish Garden ofGethsemane, courtesy Tyndal's Hardware Co. （You-Name-It-We-Sell-It）。

　　Calpurnia motioned Jem and me to the end of the row and placedherself between us. She fished in her purse, drew out herhandkerchief, and untied the hard wad of change in its corner. Shegave a dime to me and a dime to Jem. "We've got ours," he whispered.

　　"You keep it," Calpurnia said, "you're my company." Jem's faceshowed brief indecision on the ethics of withholding his own dime, buthis innate courtesy won and he shifted his dime to his pocket. I didlikewise with no qualms.

　　"Cal," I whispered, "where are the hymn-books?""We don't have any," she said.

　　"Well how-?""Sh-h," she said. Reverend Sykes was standing behind the pulpitstaring the congregation to silence. He was a short, stocky man in ablack suit, black tie, white shirt, and a gold watch-chain thatglinted in the light from the frosted windows.

　　He said, "Brethren and sisters, we are particularly glad to havecompany with us this morning. Mister and Miss Finch. You all knowtheir father. Before I begin I will read some announcements."Reverend Sykes shuffled some papers, chose one and held it atarm's length. "The Missionary Society meets in the home of SisterAnnette Reeves next Tuesday. Bring your sewing."He read from another paper. "You all know of Brother TomRobinson's trouble. He has been a faithful member of First Purchasesince he was a boy. The collection taken up today and for the nextthree Sundays will go to Helen- his wife, to help her out at home."I punched Jem. "That's the Tom Atticus's de-""Sh-h!"I turned to Calpurnia but was hushed before I opened my mouth.

　　Subdued, I fixed my attention upon Reverend Sykes, who seemed to bewaiting for me to settle down. "Will the music superintendent leadus in the first hymn," he said.

　　Zeebo rose from his pew and walked down the center aisle, stoppingin front of us and facing the congregation. He was carrying a batteredhymn-book. He opened it and said, "We'll sing number twoseventy-three."This was too much for me. "How're we gonna sing it if there ain'tany hymn-books?"Calpurnia smiled. "Hush baby," she whispered, "you'll see in aminute."Zeebo cleared his throat and read in a voice like the rumble ofdistant artillery:

　　"There's a land beyond the river."Miraculously on pitch, a hundred voices sang out Zeebo's words.

　　The last syllable, held to a husky hum, was followed by Zeebo saying,"That we call the sweet forever."Music again swelled around us; the last note lingered and Zeebomet it with the next line: "And we only reach that shore by faith'sdecree."The congregation hesitated, Zeebo repeated the line carefully, andit was sung. At the chorus Zeebo closed the book, a signal for thecongregation to proceed without his help.

　　On the dying notes of "Jubilee," Zeebo said, "In that far-offsweet forever, just beyond the shining river."Line for line, voices followed in simple harmony until the hymnended in a melancholy murmur.

　　I looked at Jem, who was looking at Zeebo from the corners of hiseyes. I didn't believe it either, but we had both heard it.

　　Reverend Sykes then called on the Lord to bless the sick and thesuffering, a procedure no different from our church practice, exceptReverend Sykes directed the Deity's attention to several specificcases.

　　His sermon was a forthright denunciation of sin, an austeredeclaration of the motto on the wall behind him: he warned his flockagainst the evils of heady brews, gambling, and strange women.

　　Bootleggers caused enough trouble in the Quarters, but women wereworse. Again, as I had often met it in my own church, I was confrontedwith the Impurity of Women doctrine that seemed to preoccupy allclergymen.

　　Jem and I had heard the same sermon Sunday after Sunday, with onlyone exception. Reverend Sykes used his pulpit more freely to expresshis views on individual lapses from grace: Jim Hardy had been absentfrom church for five Sundays and he wasn't sick; Constance Jackson hadbetter watch her ways- she was in grave danger for quarreling with herneighbors; she had erected the only spite fence in the history ofthe Quarters.

　　Reverend Sykes closed his sermon. He stood beside a table in frontof the pulpit and requested the morning offering, a proceeding thatwas strange to Jem and me. One by one, the congregation came forwardand dropped nickels and dimes into a black enameled coffee can. Jemand I followed suit, and received a soft, "Thank you, thank you," asour dimes clinked.

　　To our amazement, Reverend Sykes emptied the can onto the tableand raked the coins into his hand. He straightened up and said,"This is not enough, we must have ten dollars."The congregation stirred. "You all know what it's for- Helen can'tleave those children to work while Tom's in jail. If everybody givesone more dime, we'll have it-" Reverend Sykes waved his hand andcalled to someone in the back of the church. "Alec, shut the doors.

　　Nobody leaves here till we have ten dollars."Calpurnia scratched in her handbag and brought forth a batteredleather coin purse. "Naw Cal," Jem whispered, when she handed him ashiny quarter, "we can put ours in. Gimme your dime, Scout."The church was becoming stuffy, and it occurred to me thatReverend Sykes intended to sweat the amount due out of his flock. Fanscrackled, feet shuffled, tobacco-chewers were in agony.

　　Reverend Sykes startled me by saying sternly, "Carlow Richardson,I haven't seen you up this aisle yet."A thin man in khaki pants came up the aisle and deposited a coin.

　　The congregation murmured approval.

　　Reverend Sykes then said, "I want all of you with no children tomake a sacrifice and give one more dime apiece. Then we'll have it."Slowly, painfully, the ten dollars was collected. The door wasopened, and the gust of warm air revived us. Zeebo lined OnJordan's Stormy Banks, and church was over.

　　I wanted to stay and explore, but Calpurnia propelled me up theaisle ahead of her. At the church door, while she paused to talkwith Zeebo and his family, Jem and I chatted with Reverend Sykes. Iwas bursting with questions, but decided I would wait and letCalpurnia answer them.

　　"We were 'specially glad to have you all here," said Reverend Sykes.

　　"This church has no better friend than your daddy."My curiosity burst: "Why were you all takin' up collection for TomRobinson's wife?""Didn't you hear why?" asked Reverend Sykes. "Helen's got threelittle'uns and she can't go out to work-""Why can't she take 'em with her, Reverend?" I asked. It wascustomary for field Negroes with tiny children to deposit them inwhatever shade there was while their parents worked- usually thebabies sat in the shade between two rows of cotton. Those unable tosit were strapped papoose-style on their mothers' backs, or resided inextra cotton bags.

　　Reverend Sykes hesitated. "To tell you the truth, Miss JeanLouise, Helen's finding it hard to get work these days… when it'spicking time, I think Mr. Link Deas'll take her.""Why not, Reverend?"Before he could answer, I felt Calpurnia's hand on my shoulder. Atits pressure I said, "We thank you for lettin' us come." Jem echoedme, and we made our way homeward.

　　"Cal, I know Tom Robinson's in jail an' he's done somethin' awful,but why won't folks hire Helen?" I asked.

　　Calpurnia, in her navy voile dress and tub of a hat, walkedbetween Jem and me. "It's because of what folks say Tom's done," shesaid. "Folks aren't anxious to- to have anything to do with any of hisfamily.""Just what did he do, Cal?"Calpurnia sighed. "Old Mr. Bob Ewell accused him of rapin' hisgirl an' had him arrested an' put in jail-""Mr. Ewell?" My memory stirred. "Does he have anything to do withthose Ewells that come every first day of school an' then go home?

　　Why, Atticus said they were absolute trash- I never heard Atticus talkabout folks the way he talked about the Ewells. He said-""Yeah, those are the ones.""Well, if everybody in Maycomb knows what kind of folks the Ewellsare they'd be glad to hire Helen… what's rape, Cal?""It's somethin' you'll have to ask Mr. Finch about," she said. "Hecan explain it better than I can. You all hungry? The Reverend tooka long time unwindin' this morning, he's not usually so tedious.""He's just like our preacher," said Jem, "but why do you all singhymns that way?""Linin'?" she asked.

　　"Is that what it is?""Yeah, it's called linin'. They've done it that way as long as I canremember."Jem said it looked like they could save the collection money for ayear and get some hymn-books.

　　Calpurnia laughed. "Wouldn't do any good," she said. "They can'tread.""Can't read?" I asked. "All those folks?""That's right," Calpurnia nodded. "Can't but about four folks inFirst Purchase read… I'm one of 'em.""Where'd you go to school, Cal?" asked Jem.

　　"Nowhere. Let's see now, who taught me my letters? It was MissMaudie Atkinson's aunt, old Miss Buford-""Are you that old?""I'm older than Mr. Finch, even." Calpurnia grinned. "Not sure howmuch, though. We started rememberin' one time, trying to figure outhow old I was- I can remember back just a few years more'n he can,so I'm not much older, when you take off the fact that men can'tremember as well as women.""What's your birthday, Cal?""I just have it on Christmas, it's easier to remember that way- Idon't have a real birthday.""But Cal," Jem protested, "you don't look even near as old asAtticus.""Colored folks don't show their ages so fast," she said.

　　"Maybe because they can't read. Cal, did you teach Zeebo?""Yeah, Mister Jem. There wasn't a school even when he was a boy. Imade him learn, though."Zeebo was Calpurnia's eldest son. If I had ever thought about it,I would have known that Calpurnia was of mature years- Zeebo hadhalf-grown children- but then I had never thought about it.

　　"Did you teach him out of a primer, like us?" I asked.

　　"No, I made him get a page of the Bible every day, and there was abook Miss Buford taught me out of- bet you don't know where I got it,"she said.

　　We didn't know.

　　Calpurnia said, "Your Granddaddy Finch gave it to me.""Were you from the Landing?" Jem asked. "You never told us that.""I certainly am, Mister Jem. Grew up down there between the BufordPlace and the Landin'. I've spent all my days workin' for theFinches or the Bufords, an' I moved to Maycomb when your daddy andyour mamma married.""What was the book, Cal?" I asked.

　　"Blackstone's Commentaries."Jem was thunderstruck. "You mean you taught Zeebo outa that?""Why yes sir, Mister Jem." Calpurnia timidly put her fingers toher mouth. "They were the only books I had. Your grandaddy said Mr.

　　Blackstone wrote fine English-""That's why you don't talk like the rest of 'em," said Jem.

　　"The rest of who?""Rest of the colored folks. Cal, but you talked like they did inchurch…"That Calpurnia led a modest double life never dawned on me. The ideathat she had a separate existence outside our household was a novelone, to say nothing of her having command of two languages.

　　"Cal," I asked, "why do you talk nigger-talk to the- to your folkswhen you know it's not right?""Well, in the first place I'm black-""That doesn't mean you hafta talk that way when you know better,"said Jem.

　　Calpurnia tilted her hat and scratched her head, then pressed herhat down carefully over her ears. "It's right hard to say," shesaid. "Suppose you and Scout talked colored-folks' talk at home it'dbe out of place, wouldn't it? Now what if I talked white-folks' talkat church, and with my neighbors? They'd think I was puttin' on airsto beat Moses.""But Cal, you know better," I said.

　　"It's not necessary to tell all you know. It's not ladylike- inthe second place, folks don't like to have somebody around knowin'

　　more than they do. It aggravates 'em. You're not gonna change any ofthem by talkin' right, they've got to want to learn themselves, andwhen they don't want to learn there's nothing you can do but keep yourmouth shut or talk their language.""Cal, can I come to see you sometimes?"She looked down at me. "See me, honey? You see me every day.""Out to your house," I said. "Sometimes after work? Atticus canget me.""Any time you want to," she said. "We'd be glad to have you."We were on the sidewalk by the Radley Place.

　　"Look on the porch yonder," Jem said.

　　I looked over to the Radley Place, expecting to see its phantomoccupant sunning himself in the swing. The swing was empty.

　　"I mean our porch," said Jem.

　　I looked down the street. Enarmored, upright, uncompromising, AuntAlexandra was sitting in a rocking chair exactly as if she had satthere every day of her life.

　　13"Put my bag in the front bedroom, Calpurnia," was the first thingAunt Alexandra said. "Jean Louise, stop scratching your head," was thesecond thing she said.

　　Calpurnia picked up Aunty's heavy suitcase and opened the door.

　　"I'll take it," said Jem, and took it. I heard the suitcase hit thebedroom floor with a thump. The sound had a dull permanence about it.

　　"Have you come for a visit, Aunty?" I asked. Aunt Alexandra's visitsfrom the Landing were rare, and she traveled in state. She owned abright green square Buick and a black chauffeur, both kept in anunhealthy state of tidiness, but today they were nowhere to be seen.

　　"Didn't your father tell you?" she asked.

　　Jem and I shook our heads.

　　"Probably he forgot. He's not in yet, is he?""Nome, he doesn't usually get back till late afternoon," said Jem.

　　"Well, your father and I decided it was time I came to stay with youfor a while.""For a while" in Maycomb meant anything from three days to thirtyyears. Jem and I exchanged glances.

　　"Jem's growing up now and you are too," she said to me. "Wedecided that it would be best for you to have some feminine influence.

　　It won't be many years, Jean Louise, before you become interested inclothes and boys-"I could have made several answers to this: Cal's a girl, it would bemany years before I would be interested in boys, I would never beinterested in clothes… but I kept quiet.

　　"What about Uncle Jimmy?" asked Jem. "Is he comin', too?""Oh no, he's staying at the Landing. He'll keep the place going."The moment I said, "Won't you miss him?" I realized that this wasnot a tactful question. Uncle Jimmy present or Uncle Jimmy absent madenot much difference, he never said anything. Aunt Alexandra ignored myquestion.

　　I could think of nothing else to say to her. In fact I could neverthink of anything to say to her, and I sat thinking of past painfulconversations between us: How are you, Jean Louise? Fine, thank youma'am, how are you? Very well, thank you, what have you been doingwith yourself? Nothin'. Don't you do anything? Nome. Certainly youhave friends? Yessum. Well what do you all do? Nothin'.

　　It was plain that Aunty thought me dull in the extreme, because Ionce heard her tell Atticus that I was sluggish.

　　There was a story behind all this, but I had no desire to extract itfrom her then. Today was Sunday, and Aunt Alexandra was positivelyirritable on the Lord's Day. I guess it was her Sunday corset. She wasnot fat, but solid, and she chose protective garments that drew up herbosom to giddy heights, pinched in her waist, flared out her rear, andmanaged to suggest that Aunt Alexandra's was once an hour-glassfigure. From any angle, it was formidable.

　　The remainder of the afternoon went by in the gentle gloom thatdescends when relatives appear, but was dispelled when we heard acar turn in the driveway. It was Atticus, home from Montgomery. Jem,forgetting his dignity, ran with me to meet him. Jem seized hisbriefcase and bag, I jumped into his arms, felt his vague dry kiss andsaid, "'d you bring me a book? 'd you know Aunty's here?"Atticus answered both questions in the affirmative. "How'd youlike for her to come live with us?"I said I would like it very much, which was a lie, but one mustlie under certain circumstances and at all times when one can't doanything about them.

　　"We felt it was time you children needed- well, it's like this,Scout," Atticus said. "Your aunt's doing me a favor as well as youall. I can't stay here all day with you, and the summer's going tobe a hot one.""Yes sir," I said, not understanding a word he said. I had anidea, however, that Aunt Alexandra's appearance on the scene was notso much Atticus's doing as hers. Aunty had a way of declaring WhatIs Best For The Family, and I suppose her coming to live with us wasin that category.

　　Maycomb welcomed her. Miss Maudie Atkinson baked a Lane cake soloaded with shinny it made me tight; Miss Stephanie Crawford hadlong visits with Aunt Alexandra, consisting mostly of Miss Stephanieshaking her head and saying, "Uh, uh, uh." Miss Rachel next door hadAunty over for coffee in the afternoons, and Mr. Nathan Radley went sofar as to come up in the front yard and say he was glad to see her.

　　When she settled in with us and life resumed its daily pace, AuntAlexandra seemed as if she had always lived with us. Her MissionarySociety refreshments added to her reputation as a hostess （she did notpermit Calpurnia to make the delicacies required to sustain theSociety through long reports on Rice Christians）； she joined andbecame Secretary of the Maycomb Amanuensis Club. To all partiespresent and participating in the life of the county, Aunt Alexandrawas one of the last of her kind: she had river-boat, boarding-schoolmanners; let any moral come along and she would uphold it; she wasborn in the objective case; she was an incurable gossip. When AuntAlexandra went to school, self-doubt could not be found in anytextbook, so she knew not its meaning. She was never bored, andgiven the slightest chance she would exercise her royal prerogative:

　　she would arrange, advise, caution, and warn.

　　She never let a chance escape her to point out the shortcomings ofother tribal groups to the greater glory of our own, a habit thatamused Jem rather than annoyed him: "Aunty better watch how she talks-scratch most folks in Maycomb and they're kin to us."Aunt Alexandra, in underlining the moral of young Sam Merriweather'ssuicide, said it was caused by a morbid streak in the family. Let asixteen-year-old girl giggle in the choir and Aunty would say, "Itjust goes to show you, all the Penfield women are flighty."Everybody in Maycomb, it seemed, had a Streak: a Drinking Streak, aGambling Streak, a Mean Streak, a Funny Streak.

　　Once, when Aunty assured us that Miss Stephanie Crawford'stendency to mind other people's business was hereditary, Atticus said,"Sister, when you stop to think about it, our generation's practicallythe first in the Finch family not to marry its cousins. Would yousay the Finches have an Incestuous Streak?"Aunty said no, that's where we got our small hands and feet.

　　I never understood her preoccupation with heredity. Somewhere, I hadreceived the impression that Fine Folks were people who did the bestthey could with the sense they had, but Aunt Alexandra was of theopinion, obliquely expressed, that the longer a family had beensquatting on one patch of land the finer it was.

　　"That makes the Ewells fine folks, then," said Jem. The tribe ofwhich Burris Ewell and his brethren consisted had lived on the sameplot of earth behind the Maycomb dump, and had thrived on countywelfare money for three generations.

　　Aunt Alexandra's theory had something behind it, though. Maycomb wasan ancient town. It was twenty miles east of Finch's Landing,awkwardly inland for such an old town. But Maycomb would have beencloser to the river had it not been for the nimble-wittedness of oneSinkfield, who in the dawn of history operated an inn where twopig-trails met, the only tavern in the territory. Sinkfield, nopatriot, served and supplied ammunition to Indians and settlers alike,neither knowing or caring whether he was a part of the AlabamaTerritory or the Creek Nation so long as business was good. Businesswas excellent when Governor William Wyatt Bibb, with a view topromoting the newly created county's domestic tranquility,dispatched a team of surveyors to locate its exact center and thereestablish its seat of government. The surveyors, Sinkfield's guests,told their host that he was in the territorial confines of MaycombCounty, and showed him the probable spot where the county seat wouldbe built. Had not Sinkfield made a bold stroke to preserve hisholdings, Maycomb would have sat in the middle of Winston Swamp, aplace totally devoid of interest. Instead, Maycomb grew and sprawledout from its hub, Sinkfield's Tavern, because Sinkfield reduced hisguests to myopic drunkenness one evening, induced them to bringforward their maps and charts, lop off a little here, add a bit there,and adjust the center of the county to meet his requirements. Hesent them packing next day armed with their charts and five quartsof shinny in their saddlebags- two apiece and one for the Governor.

　　Because its primary reason for existence was government, Maycomb wasspared the grubbiness that distinguished most Alabama towns itssize. In the beginning its buildings were solid, its courthouse proud,its streets graciously wide. Maycomb's proportion of professionalpeople ran high: one went there to have his teeth pulled, his wagonfixed, his heart listened to, his money deposited, his soul saved, hismules vetted. But the ultimate wisdom of Sinkfield's maneuver isopen to question. He placed the young town too far away from theonly kind of public transportation in those days- river-boat- and ittook a man from the north end of the county two days to travel toMaycomb for store-bought goods. As a result the town remained the samesize for a hundred years, an island in a patchwork sea of cottonfieldsand timberland.

　　Although Maycomb was ignored during the War Between the States,Reconstruction rule and economic ruin forced the town to grow. It grewinward. New people so rarely settled there, the same familiesmarried the same families until the members of the community lookedfaintly alike. Occasionally someone would return from Montgomery orMobile with an outsider, but the result caused only a ripple in thequiet stream of family resemblance. Things were more or less thesame during my early years.

　　There was indeed a caste system in Maycomb, but to my mind it workedthis way: the older citizens, the present generation of people who hadlived side by side for years and years, were utterly predictable toone another: they took for granted attitudes, character shadings, evengestures, as having been repeated in each generation and refined bytime. Thus the dicta No Crawford Minds His Own Business, Every ThirdMerriweather Is Morbid, The Truth Is Not in the Delafields, All theBufords Walk Like That, were simply guides to daily living: never takea check from a Delafield without a discreet call to the bank; MissMaudie Atkinson's shoulder stoops because she was a Buford; if Mrs.

　　Grace Merriweather sips gin out of Lydia E. Pinkham bottles it'snothing unusual- her mother did the same.

　　Aunt Alexandra fitted into the world of Maycomb like a hand into aglove, but never into the world of Jem and me. I so often wondered howshe could be Atticus's and Uncle Jack's sister that I revivedhalf-remembered tales of changelings and mandrake roots that Jem hadspun long ago.

　　These were abstract speculations for the first month of her stay, asshe had little to say to Jem or me, and we saw her only at mealtimesand at night before we went to bed. It was summer and we wereoutdoors. Of course some afternoons when I would run inside for adrink of water, I would find the livingroom overrun with Maycombladies, sipping, whispering, fanning, and I would be called: "JeanLouise, come speak to these ladies."When I appeared in the doorway, Aunty would look as if she regrettedher request; I was usually mud-splashed or covered with sand.

　　"Speak to your Cousin Lily," she said one afternoon, when she hadtrapped me in the hall.

　　"Who?" I said.

　　"Your Cousin Lily Brooke," said Aunt Alexandra.

　　"She our cousin? I didn't know that."Aunt Alexandra managed to smile in a way that conveyed a gentleapology to Cousin Lily and firm disapproval to me. When Cousin LilyBrooke left I knew I was in for it.

　　It was a sad thing that my father had neglected to tell me about theFinch Family, or to install any pride into his children. Shesummoned Jem, who sat warily on the sofa beside me. She left theroom and returned with a purple-covered book on which Meditationsof Joshua S. St. Clair was stamped in gold.

　　"Your cousin wrote this," said Aunt Alexandra. "He was a beautifulcharacter."Jem examined the small volume. "Is this the Cousin Joshua who waslocked up for so long?"Aunt Alexandra said, "How did you know that?""Why, Atticus said he went round the bend at the University. Said hetried to shoot the president. Said Cousin Joshua said he wasn'tanything but a sewer-inspector and tried to shoot him with an oldflintlock pistol, only it just blew up in his hand. Atticus said itcost the family five hundred dollars to get him out of that one-"Aunt Alexandra was standing stiff as a stork. "That's all," shesaid. "We'll see about this."Before bedtime I was in Jem's room trying to borrow a book, whenAtticus knocked and entered. He sat on the side of Jem's bed, lookedat us soberly, then he grinned.

　　"Er- h'rm," he said. He was beginning to preface some things he saidwith a throaty noise, and I thought he must at last be getting old,but he looked the same. "I don't exactly know how to say this," hebegan.

　　"Well, just say it," said Jem. "Have we done something?"Our father was actually fidgeting. "No, I just want to explain toyou that- your Aunt Alexandra asked me… son, you know you're aFinch, don't you?""That's what I've been told." Jem looked out of the corners of hiseyes. His voice rose uncontrollably, "Atticus, what's the matter?"Atticus crossed his knees and folded his arms. "I'm trying to tellyou the facts of life."Jem's disgust deepened. "I know all that stuff," he said.

　　Atticus suddenly grew serious. In his lawyer's voice, without ashade of inflection, he said: "Your aunt has asked me to try andimpress upon you and Jean Louise that you are not from run-of-the-millpeople, that you are the product of several generations' gentlebreeding-" Atticus paused, watching me locate an elusive redbug onmy leg.

　　"Gentle breeding," he continued, when I had found and scratchedit, "and that you should try to live up to your name-" Atticuspersevered in spite of us: "She asked me to tell you you must try tobehave like the little lady and gentleman that you are. She wants totalk to you about the family and what it's meant to Maycomb Countythrough the years, so you'll have some idea of who you are, so youmight be moved to behave accordingly," he concluded at a gallop.

　　Stunned, Jem and I looked at each other, then at Atticus, whosecollar seemed to worry him. We did not speak to him.

　　Presently I picked up a comb from Jem's dresser and ran its teethalong the edge.

　　"Stop that noise," Atticus said.

　　His curtness stung me. The comb was midway in its journey, and Ibanged it down. For no reason I felt myself beginning to cry, but Icould not stop. This was not my father. My father never thoughtthese thoughts. My father never spoke so. Aunt Alexandra had put himup to this, somehow. Through my tears I saw Jem standing in asimilar pool of isolation, his head cocked to one side.

　　There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus's vestfront. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internalnoises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking,the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of hisbreathing.

　　"Your stomach's growling," I said.

　　"I know it," he said.

　　"You better take some soda.""I will," he said.

　　"Atticus, is all this behavin' an' stuff gonna make thingsdifferent? I mean are you-?"I felt his hand on the back of my head. "Don't you worry aboutanything," he said. "It's not time to worry."When I heard that, I knew he had come back to us. The blood in mylegs began to flow again, and I raised my head. "You really want us todo all that? I can't remember everything Finches are supposed todo…""I don't want you to remember it. Forget it."He went to the door and out of the room, shutting the door behindhim. He nearly slammed it, but caught himself at the last minute andclosed it softly. As Jem and I stared, the door opened again andAtticus peered around. His eyebrows were raised, his glasses hadslipped. "Get more like Cousin Joshua every day, don't I? Do you thinkI'll end up costing the family five hundred dollars?"I know now what he was trying to do, but Atticus was only a man.

　　It takes a woman to do that kind of work.

　　14Although we heard no more about the Finch family from AuntAlexandra, we heard plenty from the town. On Saturdays, armed with ournickels, when Jem permitted me to accompany him （he was now positivelyallergic to my presence when in public）， we would squirm our waythrough sweating sidewalk crowds and sometimes hear, "There's hischillun," or, "Yonder's some Finches." Turning to face our accusers,we would see only a couple of farmers studying the enema bags in theMayco Drugstore window. Or two dumpy countrywomen in straw hatssitting in a Hoover cart.

　　"They c'n go loose and rape up the countryside for all of 'em whorun this county care," was one obscure observation we met head on froma skinny gentleman when he passed us. Which reminded me that I had aquestion to ask Atticus.

　　"What's rape?" I asked him that night.

　　Atticus looked around from behind his paper. He was in his chairby the window. As we grew older, Jem and I thought it generous toallow Atticus thirty minutes to himself after supper.

　　He sighed, and said rape was carnal knowledge of a female by forceand without consent.

　　"Well if that's all it is why did Calpurnia dry me up when I askedher what it was?"Atticus looked pensive. "What's that again?""Well, I asked Calpurnia comin' from church that day what it was andshe said ask you but I forgot to and now I'm askin' you."His paper was now in his lap. "Again, please," he said.

　　I told him in detail about our trip to church with Calpurnia.

　　Atticus seemed to enjoy it, but Aunt Alexandra, who was sitting in acorner quietly sewing, put down her embroidery and stared at us.

　　"You all were coming back from Calpurnia's church that Sunday?"Jem said, "Yessum, she took us."I remembered something. "Yessum, and she promised me I could comeout to her house some afternoon. Atticus. I'll go next Sunday ifit's all right, can I? Cal said she'd come get me if you were off inthe car.""You may not."Aunt Alexandra said it. I wheeled around, startled, then turned backto Atticus in time to catch his swift glance at her, but it was toolate. I said, "I didn't ask you!"For a big man, Atticus could get up and down from a chair fasterthan anyone I ever knew. He was on his feet. "Apologize to your aunt,"he said.

　　"I didn't ask her, I asked you-"Atticus turned his head and pinned me to the wall with his good eye.

　　His voice was deadly: "First, apologize to your aunt.""I'm sorry, Aunty," I muttered.

　　"Now then," he said. "Let's get this clear: you do as Calpurniatells you, you do as I tell you, and as long as your aunt's in thishouse, you will do as she tells you. Understand?"I understood, pondered a while, and concluded that the only way Icould retire with a shred of dignity was to go to the bathroom,where I stayed long enough to make them think I had to go.

　　Returning, I lingered in the hall to hear a fierce discussion going onin the livingroom. Through the door I could see Jem on the sofa with afootball magazine in front of his face, his head turning as if itspages contained a live tennis match.

　　"…you've got to do something about her," Aunty was saying. "You'velet things go on too long, Atticus, too long.""I don't see any harm in letting her go out there. Cal'd lookafter her there as well as she does here."Who was the "her" they were talking about? My heart sank: me. I feltthe starched walls of a pink cotton penitentiary closing in on me, andfor the second time in my life I thought of running away. Immediately.

　　"Atticus, it's all right to be soft-hearted, you're an easy man, butyou have a daughter to think of. A daughter who's growing up.""That's what I am thinking of.""And don't try to get around it. You've got to face it sooner orlater and it might as well be tonight. We don't need her now."Atticus's voice was even: "Alexandra, Calpurnia's not leaving thishouse until she wants to. You may think otherwise, but I couldn't havegot along without her all these years. She's a faithful member of thisfamily and you'll simply have to accept things the way they are.

　　Besides, sister, I don't want you working your head off for us- you'veno reason to do that. We still need Cal as much as we ever did.""But Atticus-""Besides, I don't think the children've suffered one bit from herhaving brought them up. If anything, she's been harder on them in someways than a mother would have been… she's never let them get awaywith anything, she's never indulged them the way most colored nursesdo. She tried to bring them up according to her lights, and Cal'slights are pretty good- and another thing, the children love her."I breathed again. It wasn't me, it was only Calpurnia they weretalking about. Revived, I entered the livingroom. Atticus hadretreated behind his newspaper and Aunt Alexandra was worrying herembroidery. Punk, punk, punk, her needle broke the taut circle. Shestopped, and pulled the cloth tighter: punk-punk-punk. She wasfurious.

　　Jem got up and padded across the rug. He motioned me to follow. Heled me to his room and closed the door. His face was grave.

　　"They've been fussing, Scout."Jem and I fussed a great deal these days, but I had never heard ofor seen anyone quarrel with Atticus. It was not a comfortable sight.

　　"Scout, try not to antagonize Aunty, hear?"Atticus's remarks were still rankling, which made me miss therequest in Jem's question. My feathers rose again. "You tryin' to tellme what to do?""Naw, it's- he's got a lot on his mind now, without us worryinghim.""Like what?" Atticus didn't appear to have anything especially onhis mind.

　　"It's this Tom Robinson case that's worryin' him to death-"I said Atticus didn't worry about anything. Besides, the casenever bothered us except about once a week and then it didn't last.

　　"That's because you can't hold something in your mind but a littlewhile," said Jem. "It's different with grown folks, we-"His maddening superiority was unbearable these days. He didn'twant to do anything but read and go off by himself. Still,everything he read he passed along to me, but with this difference:

　　formerly, because he thought I'd like it; now, for my edificationand instruction.

　　"Jee crawling hova, Jem! Who do you think you are?""Now I mean it, Scout, you antagonize Aunty and I'll- I'll spankyou."With that, I was gone. "You damn morphodite, I'll kill you!" Hewas sitting on the bed, and it was easy to grab his front hair andland one on his mouth. He slapped me and I tried another left, but apunch in the stomach sent me sprawling on the floor. It nearly knockedthe breath out of me, but it didn't matter because I knew he wasfighting, he was fighting me back. We were still equals.

　　"Ain't so high and mighty now, are you!" I screamed, sailing inagain. He was still on the bed and I couldn't get a firm stance, soI threw myself at him as hard as I could, hitting, pulling,pinching, gouging. What had begun as a fist-fight became a brawl. Wewere still struggling when Atticus separated us.

　　"That's all," he said. "Both of you go to bed right now.""Taah!" I said at Jem. He was being sent to bed at my bedtime.

　　"Who started it?" asked Atticus, in resignation.

　　"Jem did. He was tryin' to tell me what to do. I don't have tomind him now, do I?"Atticus smiled. "Let's leave it at this: you mind Jem whenever hecan make you. Fair enough?"Aunt Alexandra was present but silent, and when she went down thehall with Atticus we heard her say, "…just one of the things I'vebeen telling you about," a phrase that united us again.

　　Ours were adjoining rooms; as I shut the door between them Jem said,"Night, Scout.""Night," I murmured, picking my way across the room to turn on thelight. As I passed the bed I stepped on something warm, resilient, andrather smooth. It was not quite like hard rubber, and I had thesensation that it was alive. I also heard it move.

　　I switched on the light and looked at the floor by the bed. WhateverI had stepped on was gone. I tapped on Jem's door.

　　"What," he said.

　　"How does a snake feel?""Sort of rough. Cold. Dusty. Why?""I think there's one under my bed. Can you come look?""Are you bein' funny?" Jem opened the door. He was in his pajamabottoms. I noticed not without satisfaction that the mark of myknuckles was still on his mouth. When he saw I meant what I said, hesaid, "If you think I'm gonna put my face down to a snake you've gotanother think comin'. Hold on a minute."He went to the kitchen and fetched the broom. "You better get upon the bed," he said.

　　"You reckon it's really one?" I asked. This was an occasion. Ourhouses had no cellars; they were built on stone blocks a few feetabove the ground, and the entry of reptiles was not unknown but wasnot commonplace. Miss Rachel Haverford's excuse for a glass of neatwhiskey every morning was that she never got over the fright offinding a rattler coiled in her bedroom closet, on her washing, whenshe went to hang up her negligee.

　　Jem made a tentative swipe under the bed. I looked over the footto see if a snake would come out. None did. Jem made a deeper swipe.

　　"Do snakes grunt?""It ain't a snake," Jem said. "It's somebody."Suddenly a filthy brown package shot from under the bed. Jemraised the broom and missed Dill's head by an inch when it appeared.

　　"God Almighty." Jem's voice was reverent.

　　We watched Dill emerge by degrees. He was a tight fit. He stood upand eased his shoulders, turned his feet in their ankle sockets,rubbed the back of his neck. His circulation restored, he said, "Hey."Jem petitioned God again. I was speechless.

　　"I'm 'bout to perish," said Dill. "Got anything to eat?"In a dream, I went to the kitchen. I brought him back some milkand half a pan of corn bread left over from supper. Dill devouredit, chewing with his front teeth, as was his custom.

　　I finally found my voice. "How'd you get here?"By an involved route. Refreshed by food, Dill recited thisnarrative: having been bound in chains and left to die in the basement（there were basements in Meridian） by his new father, who dislikedhim, and secretly kept alive on raw field peas by a passing farmer whoheard his cries for help （the good man poked a bushel pod by podthrough the ventilator）， Dill worked himself free by pulling thechains from the wall. Still in wrist manacles, he wandered two milesout of Meridian where he discovered a small animal show and wasimmediately engaged to wash the camel. He traveled with the show allover Mississippi until his infallible sense of direction told him hewas in Abbott County, Alabama, just across the river from Maycomb.

　　He walked the rest of the way.

　　"How'd you get here?" asked Jem.

　　He had taken thirteen dollars from his mother's purse, caught thenine o'clock from Meridian and got off at Maycomb Junction. He hadwalked ten or eleven of the fourteen miles to Maycomb, off the highwayin the scrub bushes lest the authorities be seeking him, and hadridden the remainder of the way clinging to the backboard of acotton wagon. He had been under the bed for two hours, he thought;he had heard us in the diningroom, and the clink of forks on platesnearly drove him crazy. He thought Jem and I would never go to bed; hehad considered emerging and helping me beat Jem, as Jem had grownfar taller, but he knew Mr. Finch would break it up soon, so hethought it best to stay where he was. He was worn out, dirty beyondbelief, and home.

　　"They must not know you're here," said Jem. "We'd know if theywere lookin' for you…""Think they're still searchin' all the picture shows in Meridian."Dill grinned.

　　"You oughta let your mother know where you are," said Jem. "Yououghta let her know you're here…"Dill's eyes flickered at Jem, and Jem looked at the floor. Then herose and broke the remaining code of our childhood. He went out of theroom and down the hall. "Atticus," his voice was distant, "can youcome here a minute, sir?"Beneath its sweat-streaked dirt Dill's face went white. I felt sick.

　　Atticus was in the doorway.

　　He came to the middle of the room and stood with his hands in hispockets, looking down at Dill.

　　I finally found my voice: "It's okay, Dill. When he wants you toknow somethin', he tells you."Dill looked at me. "I mean it's all right," I said. "You know hewouldn't bother you, you know you ain't scared of Atticus.""I'm not scared…" Dill muttered.

　　"Just hungry, I'll bet." Atticus's voice had its usual pleasantdryness. "Scout, we can do better than a pan of cold corn bread, can'twe? You fill this fellow up and when I get back we'll see what wecan see.""Mr. Finch, don't tell Aunt Rachel, don't make me go back,please sir! I'll run off again-!""Whoa, son," said Atticus. "Nobody's about to make you go anywherebut to bed pretty soon. I'm just going over to tell Miss Rachel you'rehere and ask her if you could spend the night with us- you'd likethat, wouldn't you? And for goodness' sake put some of the county backwhere it belongs, the soil erosion's bad enough as it is."Dill stared at my father's retreating figure.

　　"He's tryin' to be funny," I said. "He means take a bath. See there,I told you he wouldn't bother you."Jem was standing in a corner of the room, looking like the traitorhe was. "Dill, I had to tell him," he said. "You can't run threehundred miles off without your mother knowin'."We left him without a word.

　　Dill ate, and ate, and ate. He hadn't eaten since last night. Heused all his money for a ticket, boarded the train as he had done manytimes, coolly chatted with the conductor, to whom Dill was afamiliar sight, but he had not the nerve to invoke the rule on smallchildren traveling a distance alone if you've lost your money theconductor will lend you enough for dinner and your father will pay himback at the end of the line.

　　Dill made his way through the leftovers and was reaching for a canof pork and beans in the pantry when Miss Rachel's Do-oo Je-sus wentoff in the hall. He shivered like a rabbit.

　　He bore with fortitude her Wait Till I Get You Home, Your FolksAre Out of Their Minds Worryin', was quite calm during That's Allthe Harris in You Coming Out, smiled at her Reckon You Can Stay OneNight, and returned the hug at long last bestowed upon him.

　　Atticus pushed up his glasses and rubbed his face.

　　"Your father's tired," said Aunt Alexandra, her first words inhours, it seemed. She had been there, but I suppose struck dumb mostof the time. "You children get to bed now."We left them in the diningroom, Atticus still mopping his face.

　　"From rape to riot to runaways," we heard him chuckle. "I wonderwhat the next two hours will bring."Since things appeared to have worked out pretty well, Dill and Idecided to be civil to Jem. Besides, Dill had to sleep with him sowe might as well speak to him.

　　I put on my pajamas, read for a while and found myself suddenlyunable to keep my eyes open. Dill and Jem were quiet; when I turnedoff my reading lamp there was no strip of light under the door toJem's room.

　　I must have slept a long time, for when I was punched awake the roomwas dim with the light of the setting moon.

　　"Move over, Scout.""He thought he had to," I mumbled. "Don't stay mad with him."Dill got in bed beside me. "I ain't," he said. "I just wanted tosleep with you. Are you waked up?"By this time I was, but lazily so. "Why'd you do it?"No answer. "I said why'd you run off? Was he really hateful like yousaid?""Naw…""Didn't you all build that boat like you wrote you were gonna?""He just said we would. We never did."I raised up on my elbow, facing Dill's outline. "It's no reason torun off. They don't get around to doin' what they say they're gonna dohalf the time…""That wasn't it, he- they just wasn't interested in me."This was the weirdest reason for flight I had ever heard. "Howcome?""Well, they stayed gone all the time, and when they were home, even,they'd get off in a room by themselves.""What'd they do in there?""Nothin', just sittin' and readin'- but they didn't want me with'em."I pushed the pillow to the headboard and sat up. "You knowsomething? I was fixin' to run off tonight because there they allwere. You don't want 'em around you all the time, Dill-"Dill breathed his patient breath, a half-sigh.

　　"-good night, Atticus's gone all day and sometimes half the nightand off in the legislature and I don't know what- you don't want 'emaround all the time, Dill, you couldn't do anything if they were.""That's not it."As Dill explained, I found myself wondering what life would be ifJem were different, even from what he was now; what I would do ifAtticus did not feel the necessity of my presence, help and advice.

　　Why, he couldn't get along a day without me. Even Calpurnia couldn'tget along unless I was there. They needed me.

　　"Dill, you ain't telling me right- your folks couldn't do withoutyou. They must be just mean to you. Tell you what to do about that-"Dill's voice went on steadily in the darkness: "The thing is, whatI'm tryin' to say is- they do get on a lot better without me, Ican't help them any. They ain't mean. They buy me everything I want,but it's now-you've-got-it-go-play-with-it. You've got a roomful ofthings. I-got-you-that-book-so-go-read-it." Dill tried to deepen hisvoice. "You're not a boy. Boys get out and play baseball with otherboys, they don't hang around the house worryin' their folks."Dill's voice was his own again: "Oh, they ain't mean. They kissyou and hug you good night and good mornin' and good-bye and tellyou they love you- Scout, let's get us a baby.""Where?"There was a man Dill had heard of who had a boat that he rowedacross to a foggy island where all these babies were; you couldorder one-"That's a lie. Aunty said God drops 'em down the chimney. At leastthat's what I think she said." For once, Aunty's diction had notbeen too clear.

　　"Well that ain't so. You get babies from each other. But there'sthis man, too- he has all these babies just waitin' to wake up, hebreathes life into 'em…"Dill was off again. Beautiful things floated around in his dreamyhead. He could read two books to my one, but he preferred the magic ofhis own inventions. He could add and subtract faster than lightning,but he preferred his own twilight world, a world where babies slept,waiting to be gathered like morning lilies. He was slowly talkinghimself to sleep and taking me with him, but in the quietness of hisfoggy island there rose the faded image of a gray house with sad browndoors.

　　"Dill?""Mm?""Why do you reckon Boo Radley's never run off?"Dill sighed a long sigh and turned away from me.

　　"Maybe he doesn't have anywhere to run off to…"15After many telephone calls, much pleading on behalf of thedefendant, and a long forgiving letter from his mother, it was decidedthat Dill could stay. We had a week of peace together. After that,little, it seemed. A nightmare was upon us.

　　It began one evening after supper. Dill was over; Aunt Alexandra wasin her chair in the corner, Atticus was in his; Jem and I were onthe floor reading. It had been a placid week: I had minded Aunty;Jem had outgrown the treehouse, but helped Dill and me construct a newrope ladder for it; Dill had hit upon a foolproof plan to make BooRadley come out at no cost to ourselves （place a trail of lemondrops from the back door to the front yard and he'd follow it, like anant）。 There was a knock on the front door, Jem answered it and said itwas Mr. Heck Tate.

　　"Well, ask him to come in," said Atticus.

　　"I already did. There's some men outside in the yard, they wantyou to come out."In Maycomb, grown men stood outside in the front yard for only tworeasons: death and politics. I wondered who had died. Jem and I wentto the front door, but Atticus called, "Go back in the house."Jem turned out the livingroom lights and pressed his nose to awindow screen. Aunt Alexandra protested. "Just for a second, Aunty,let's see who it is," he said.

　　Dill and I took another window. A crowd of men was standing aroundAtticus. They all seemed to be talking at once.

　　"…movin' him to the county jail tomorrow," Mr. Tate was saying, "Idon't look for any trouble, but I can't guarantee there won't beany…""Don't be foolish, Heck," Atticus said. "This is Maycomb.""…said I was just uneasy.""Heck, we've gotten one postponement of this case just to makesure there's nothing to be uneasy about. This is Saturday," Atticussaid. "Trial'll probably be Monday. You can keep him one night,can't you? I don't think anybody in Maycomb'll begrudge me a client,with times this hard."There was a murmur of glee that died suddenly when Mr. Link Deassaid, "Nobody around here's up to anything, it's that Old Sarumbunch I'm worried about… can't you get a- what is it, Heck?""Change of venue," said Mr. Tate. "Not much point in that, now isit?"Atticus said something inaudible. I turned to Jem, who waved me tosilence.

　　"-besides," Atticus was saying, "you're not scared of that crowd,are you?""…know how they do when they get shinnied up.""They don't usually drink on Sunday, they go to church most of theday…" Atticus said.

　　"This is a special occasion, though…" someone said.

　　They murmured and buzzed until Aunty said if Jem didn't turn onthe livingroom lights he would disgrace the family. Jem didn't hearher.

　　"-don't see why you touched it in the first place," Mr. Link Deaswas saying. "You've got everything to lose from this, Atticus. Imean everything.""Do you really think so?"This was Atticus's dangerous question. "Do you really think you wantto move there, Scout?" Bam, bam, bam, and the checkerboard was sweptclean of my men. "Do you really think that, son? Then read this."Jem would struggle the rest of an evening through the speeches ofHenry W. Grady.

　　"Link, that boy might go to the chair, but he's not going till thetruth's told." Atticus's voice was even. "And you know what thetruth is."There was a murmur among the group of men, made more ominous whenAtticus moved back to the bottom front step and the men drew nearer tohim.

　　Suddenly Jem screamed, "Atticus, the telephone's ringing!"The men jumped a little and scattered; they were people we saw everyday: merchants, in-town farmers; Dr. Reynolds was there; so was Mr.

　　Avery.

　　"Well, answer it, son," called Atticus.

　　Laughter broke them up. When Atticus switched on the overheadlight in the livingroom he found Jem at the window, pale except forthe vivid mark of the screen on his nose.

　　"Why on earth are you all sitting in the dark?" he asked.

　　Jem watched him go to his chair and pick up the evening paper. Isometimes think Atticus subjected every crisis of his life to tranquilevaluation behind The Mobile Register, The Birmingham News andThe Montgomery Advertiser.

　　"They were after you, weren't they?" Jem went to him. "They wantedto get you, didn't they?"Atticus lowered the paper and gazed at Jem. "What have you beenreading?" he asked. Then he said gently, "No son, those were ourfriends.""It wasn't a- a gang?" Jem was looking from the corners of his eyes.

　　Atticus tried to stifle a smile but didn't make it. "No, we don'thave mobs and that nonsense in Maycomb. I've never heard of a gangin Maycomb.""Ku Klux got after some Catholics one time.""Never heard of any Catholics in Maycomb either," said Atticus,"you're confusing that with something else. Way back aboutnineteen-twenty there was a Klan, but it was a politicalorganization more than anything. Besides, they couldn't find anybodyto scare. They paraded by Mr. Sam Levy's house one night, but Sam juststood on his porch and told 'em things had come to a pretty pass, he'dsold 'em the very sheets on their backs. Sam made 'em so ashamed ofthemselves they went away."The Levy family met all criteria for being Fine Folks: they didthe best they could with the sense they had, and they had beenliving on the same plot of ground in Maycomb for five generations.

　　"The Ku Klux's gone," said Atticus. "It'll never come back."I walked home with Dill and returned in time to overhear Atticussaying to Aunty, "…in favor of Southern womanhood as much asanybody, but not for preserving polite fiction at the expense of humanlife," a pronouncement that made me suspect they had been fussingagain.

　　I sought Jem and found him in his room, on the bed deep inthought. "Have they been at it?" I asked.

　　"Sort of. She won't let him alone about Tom Robinson. She almostsaid Atticus was disgracin' the family. Scout… I'm scared.""Scared'a what?""Scared about Atticus. Somebody might hurt him." Jem preferred toremain mysterious; all he would say to my questions was go on andleave him alone.

　　Next day was Sunday. In the interval between Sunday School andChurch when the congregation stretched its legs, I saw Atticusstanding in the yard with another knot of men. Mr. Heck Tate waspresent, and I wondered if he had seen the light. He never went tochurch. Even Mr. Underwood was there. Mr. Underwood had no use for anyorganization but The Maycomb Tribune, of which he was the soleowner, editor, and printer. His days were spent at his linotype, wherehe refreshed himself occasionally from an ever-present gallon jug ofcherry wine. He rarely gathered news; people brought it to him. It wassaid that he made up every edition of The Maycomb Tribune out of hisown head and wrote it down on the linotype. This was believable.

　　Something must have been up to haul Mr. Underwood out.

　　I caught Atticus coming in the door, and he said that they'd movedTom Robinson to the Maycomb jail. He also said, more to himself thanto me, that if they'd kept him there in the first place there wouldn'thave been any fuss. I watched him take his seat on the third rowfrom the front, and I heard him rumble, "Nearer my God to thee,"some notes behind the rest of us. He never sat with Aunty, Jem and me.

　　He liked to be by himself in church.

　　The fake peace that prevailed on Sundays was made more irritating byAunt Alexandra's presence. Atticus would flee to his office directlyafter dinner, where if we sometimes looked in on him, we would findhim sitting back in his swivel chair reading. Aunt Alexandracomposed herself for a two-hour nap and dared us to make any noisein the yard, the neighborhood was resting. Jem in his old age hadtaken to his room with a stack of football magazines. So Dill and Ispent our Sundays creeping around in Deer's Pasture.

　　Shooting on Sundays was prohibited, so Dill and I kicked Jem'sfootball around the pasture for a while, which was no fun. Dillasked if I'd like to have a poke at Boo Radley. I said I didn'tthink it'd be nice to bother him, and spent the rest of theafternoon filling Dill in on last winter's events. He was considerablyimpressed.

　　We parted at suppertime, and after our meal Jem and I weresettling down to a routine evening, when Atticus did something thatinterested us: he came into the livingroom carrying a longelectrical extension cord. There was a light bulb on the end.

　　"I'm going out for a while," he said. "You folks'll be in bed when Icome back, so I'll say good night now."With that, he put his hat on and went out the back door.

　　"He's takin' the car," said Jem.

　　Our father had a few peculiarities: one was, he never atedesserts; another was that he liked to walk. As far back as I couldremember, there was always a Chevrolet in excellent condition in thecarhouse, and Atticus put many miles on it in business trips, but inMaycomb he walked to and from his office four times a day, coveringabout two miles. He said his only exercise was walking. In Maycomb, ifone went for a walk with no definite purpose in mind, it was correctto believe one's mind incapable of definite purpose.

　　Later on, I bade my aunt and brother good night and was well intoa book when I heard Jem rattling around in his room. His go-to-bednoises were so familiar to me that I knocked on his door: "Why ain'tyou going to bed?""I'm goin' downtown for a while." He was changing his pants.

　　"Why? It's almost ten o'clock, Jem."He knew it, but he was going anyway.

　　"Then I'm goin' with you. If you say no you're not, I'm goin'

　　anyway, hear?"Jem saw that he would have to fight me to keep me home, and Isuppose he thought a fight would antagonize Aunty, so he gave inwith little grace.

　　I dressed quickly. We waited until Aunty's light went out, and wewalked quietly down the back steps. There was no moon tonight.

　　"Dill'll wanta come," I whispered.

　　"So he will," said Jem gloomily.

　　We leaped over the driveway wall, cut through Miss Rachel's sideyard and went to Dill's window. Jem whistled bob-white. Dill's faceappeared at the screen, disappeared, and five minutes later heunhooked the screen and crawled out. An old campaigner, he did notspeak until we were on the sidewalk. "What's up?""Jem's got the look-arounds," an affliction Calpurnia said allboys caught at his age.

　　"I've just got this feeling," Jem said, "just this feeling."We went by Mrs. Dubose's house, standing empty and shuttered, hercamellias grown up in weeds and johnson grass. There were eight morehouses to the post office corner.

　　The south side of the square was deserted. Giant monkey-puzzlebushes bristled on each corner, and between them an iron hitching railglistened under the street lights. A light shone in the county toilet,otherwise that side of the courthouse was dark. A larger square ofstores surrounded the courthouse square; dim lights burned from deepwithin them.

　　Atticus's office was in the courthouse when he began his lawpractice, but after several years of it he moved to quieter quartersin the Maycomb Bank building. When we rounded the corner of thesquare, we saw the car parked in front of the bank. "He's in there,"said Jem.

　　But he wasn't. His office was reached by a long hallway. Lookingdown the hall, we should have seen Atticus Finch, Attorney-at-Law insmall sober letters against the light from behind his door. It wasdark.

　　Jem peered in the bank door to make sure. He turned the knob. Thedoor was locked. "Let's go up the street. Maybe he's visitin' Mr.

　　Underwood."Mr. Underwood not only ran The Maycomb Tribune office, he lived init. That is, above it. He covered the courthouse and jailhouse newssimply by looking out his upstairs window. The office building wason the northwest corner of the square, and to reach it we had topass the jail.

　　The Maycomb jail was the most venerable and hideous of thecounty's buildings. Atticus said it was like something Cousin JoshuaSt. Clair might have designed. It was certainly someone's dream.

　　Starkly out of place in a town of square-faced stores and steep-roofedhouses, the Maycomb jail was a miniature Gothic joke one cell wide andtwo cells high, complete with tiny battlements and flyingbuttresses. Its fantasy was heightened by its red brick facade and thethick steel bars at its ecclesiastical windows. It stood on nolonely hill, but was wedged between Tyndal's Hardware Store and TheMaycomb Tribune office. The jail was Maycomb's only conversationpiece: its detractors said it looked like a Victorian privy; itssupporters said it gave the town a good solid respectable look, and nostranger would ever suspect that it was full of niggers.

　　As we walked up the sidewalk, we saw a solitary light burning in thedistance. "That's funny," said Jem, "jail doesn't have an outsidelight.""Looks like it's over the door," said Dill.

　　A long extension cord ran between the bars of a second-floorwindow and down the side of the building. In the light from its barebulb, Atticus was sitting propped against the front door. He wassitting in one of his office chairs, and he was reading, obliviousof the nightbugs dancing over his head.

　　I made to run, but Jem caught me. "Don't go to him," he said, "hemight not like it. He's all right, let's go home. I just wanted to seewhere he was."We were taking a short cut across the square when four dusty carscame in from the Meridian highway, moving slowly in a line. Theywent around the square, passed the bank building, and stopped in frontof the jail.

　　Nobody got out. We saw Atticus look up from his newspaper. He closedit, folded it deliberately, dropped it in his lap, and pushed hishat to the back of his head. He seemed to be expecting them.

　　"Come on," whispered Jem. We streaked across the square, acrossthe street, until we were in the shelter of the Jitney Jungle door.

　　Jem peeked up the sidewalk. "We can get closer," he said. We ran toTyndal's Hardware door- near enough, at the same time discreet.

　　In ones and twos, men got out of the cars. Shadows becamesubstance as lights revealed solid shapes moving toward the jail door.

　　Atticus remained where he was. The men hid him from view.

　　"He in there, Mr. Finch?" a man said.

　　"He is," we heard Atticus answer, "and he's asleep. Don't wake himup."In obedience to my father, there followed what I later realizedwas a sickeningly comic aspect of an unfunny situation: the men talkedin near-whispers.

　　"You know what we want," another man said. "Get aside from the door,Mr. Finch.""You can turn around and go home again, Walter," Atticus saidpleasantly. "Heck Tate's around somewhere.""The hell he is," said another man. "Heck's bunch's so deep in thewoods they won't get out till mornin'.""Indeed? Why so?""Called 'em off on a snipe hunt," was the succinct answer. "Didn'tyou think a'that, Mr. Finch?""Thought about it, but didn't believe it. Well then," my father'svoice was still the same, "that changes things, doesn't it?""It do," another deep voice said. Its owner was a shadow.

　　"Do you really think so?"This was the second time I heard Atticus ask that question in twodays, and it meant somebody's man would get jumped. This was toogood to miss. I broke away from Jem and ran as fast as I could toAtticus.

　　Jem shrieked and tried to catch me, but I had a lead on him andDill. I pushed my way through dark smelly bodies and burst into thecircle of light.

　　"H-ey, Atticus!"I thought he would have a fine surprise, but his face killed my joy.

　　A flash of plain fear was going out of his eyes, but returned whenDill and Jem wriggled into the light.

　　There was a smell of stale whiskey and pigpen about, and when Iglanced around I discovered that these men were strangers. They werenot the people I saw last night. Hot embarrassment shot through me:

　　I had leaped triumphantly into a ring of people I had never seenbefore.

　　Atticus got up from his chair, but he was moving slowly, like an oldman. He put the newspaper down very carefully, adjusting its creaseswith lingering fingers. They were trembling a little.

　　"Go home, Jem," he said. "Take Scout and Dill home."We were accustomed to prompt, if not always cheerful acquiescence toAtticus's instructions, but from the way he stood Jem was not thinkingof budging.

　　"Go home, I said."Jem shook his head. As Atticus's fists went to his hips, so didJem's, and as they faced each other I could see little resemblancebetween them: Jem's soft brown hair and eyes, his oval face andsnug-fitting ears were our mother's, contrasting oddly withAtticus's graying black hair and square-cut features, but they weresomehow alike. Mutual defiance made them alike.

　　"Son, I said go home."Jem shook his head.

　　"I'll send him home," a burly man said, and grabbed Jem roughly bythe collar. He yanked Jem nearly off his feet.

　　"Don't you touch him!" I kicked the man swiftly. Barefooted, I wassurprised to see him fall back in real pain. I intended to kick hisshin, but aimed too high.

　　"That'll do, Scout." Atticus put his hand on my shoulder. "Don'tkick folks. No-" he said, as I was pleading justification.

　　"Ain't nobody gonna do Jem that way," I said.

　　"All right, Mr. Finch, get 'em outa here," someone growled. "You gotfifteen seconds to get 'em outa here."In the midst of this strange assembly, Atticus stood trying tomake Jem mind him. "I ain't going," was his steady answer to Atticus'sthreats, requests, and finally, "Please Jem, take them home."I was getting a bit tired of that, but felt Jem had his ownreasons for doing as he did, in view of his prospects once Atticus didget him home. I looked around the crowd. It was a summer's night,but the men were dressed, most of them, in overalls and denim shirtsbuttoned up to the collars. I thought they must be cold-natured, astheir sleeves were unrolled and buttoned at the cuffs. Some worehats pulled firmly down over their ears. They were sullen-looking,sleepy-eyed men who seemed unused to late hours. I sought once morefor a familiar face, and at the center of the semi-circle I found one.

　　"Hey, Mr. Cunningham."The man did not hear me, it seemed.

　　"Hey, Mr. Cunningham. How's your entailment gettin' along?"Mr. Walter Cunningham's legal affairs were well known to me; Atticushad once described them at length. The big man blinked and hookedhis thumbs in his overall straps. He seemed uncomfortable; hecleared his throat and looked away. My friendly overture had fallenflat.

　　Mr. Cunningham wore no hat, and the top half of his forehead waswhite in contrast to his sunscorched face, which led me to believethat he wore one most days. He shifted his feet, clad in heavy workshoes.

　　"Don't you remember me, Mr. Cunningham? I'm Jean Louise Finch. Youbrought us some hickory nuts one time, remember?" I began to sense thefutility one feels when unacknowledged by a chance acquaintance.

　　"I go to school with Walter," I began again. "He's your boy, ain'the? Ain't he, sir?"Mr. Cunningham was moved to a faint nod. He did know me, after all.

　　"He's in my grade," I said, "and he does right well. He's a goodboy," I added, "a real nice boy. We brought him home for dinner onetime. Maybe he told you about me, I beat him up one time but he wasreal nice about it. Tell him hey for me, won't you?"Atticus had said it was the polite thing to talk to people aboutwhat they were interested in, not about what you were interested in.

　　Mr. Cunningham displayed no interest in his son, so I tackled hisentailment once more in a last-ditch effort to make him feel at home.

　　"Entailments are bad," I was advising him, when I slowly awoke tothe fact that I was addressing the entire aggregation. The men wereall looking at me, some had their mouths half-open. Atticus hadstopped poking at Jem: they were standing together beside Dill.

　　Their attention amounted to fascination. Atticus's mouth, even, washalf-open, an attitude he had once described as uncouth. Our eyesmet and he shut it.

　　"Well, Atticus, I was just sayin' to Mr. Cunningham that entailmentsare bad an' all that, but you said not to worry, it takes a longtime sometimes… that you all'd ride it out together…" I was slowlydrying up, wondering what idiocy I had committed. Entailments seemedall right enough for livingroom talk.

　　I began to feel sweat gathering at the edges of my hair; I couldstand anything but a bunch of people looking at me. They were quitestill.

　　"What's the matter?" I asked.

　　Atticus said nothing. I looked around and up at Mr. Cunningham,whose face was equally impassive. Then he did a peculiar thing. Hesquatted down and took me by both shoulders.

　　"I'll tell him you said hey, little lady," he said.

　　Then he straightened up and waved a big paw. "Let's clear out," hecalled. "Let's get going, boys."As they had come, in ones and twos the men shuffled back to theirramshackle cars. Doors slammed, engines coughed, and they were gone.

　　I turned to Atticus, but Atticus had gone to the jail and wasleaning against it with his face to the wall. I went to him and pulledhis sleeve. "Can we go home now?" He nodded, produced hishandkerchief, gave his face a going-over and blew his nose violently.

　　"Mr. Finch?"A soft husky voice came from the darkness above: "They gone?"Atticus stepped back and looked up. "They've gone," he said. "Getsome sleep, Tom. They won't bother you any more."From a different direction, another voice cut crisply through thenight: "You're damn tootin' they won't. Had you covered all thetime, Atticus."Mr. Underwood and a double-barreled shotgun were leaning out hiswindow above The Maycomb Tribune office.

　　It was long past my bedtime and I was growing quite tired; it seemedthat Atticus and Mr. Underwood would talk for the rest of the night,Mr. Underwood out the window and Atticus up at him. Finally Atticusreturned, switched off the light above the jail door, and picked uphis chair.

　　"Can I carry it for you, Mr. Finch?" asked Dill. He had not said aword the whole time.

　　"Why, thank you, son."Walking toward the office, Dill and I fell into step behindAtticus and Jem. Dill was encumbered by the chair, and his pace wasslower. Atticus and Jem were well ahead of us, and I assumed thatAtticus was giving him hell for not going home, but I was wrong. Asthey passed under a streetlight, Atticus reached out and massagedJem's hair, his one gesture of affection.

　　16Jem heard me. He thrust his head around the connecting door. As hecame to my bed Atticus's light flashed on. We stayed where we wereuntil it went off; we heard him turn over, and we waited until hewas still again.

　　Jem took me to his room and put me in bed beside him. "Try to goto sleep," he said, "It'll be all over after tomorrow, maybe."We had come in quietly, so as not to wake Aunty. Atticus killedthe engine in the driveway and coasted to the carhouse; we went in theback door and to our rooms without a word. I was very tired, and wasdrifting into sleep when the memory of Atticus calmly folding hisnewspaper and pushing back his hat became Atticus standing in themiddle of an empty waiting street, pushing up his glasses. The fullmeaning of the night's events hit me and I began crying. Jem wasawfully nice about it: for once he didn't remind me that people nearlynine years old didn't do things like that.

　　Everybody's appetite was delicate this morning, except Jem's: he atehis way through three eggs. Atticus watched in frank admiration;Aunt Alexandra sipped coffee and radiated waves of disapproval.

　　Children who slipped out at night were a disgrace to the family.

　　Atticus said he was right glad his disgraces had come along, but Auntysaid, "Nonsense, Mr. Underwood was there all the time.""You know, it's a funny thing about Braxton," said Atticus. "Hedespises Negroes, won't have one near him."Local opinion held Mr. Underwood to be an intense, profane littleman, whose father in a fey fit of humor christened Braxton Bragg, aname Mr. Underwood had done his best to live down. Atticus said namingpeople after Confederate generals made slow steady drinkers.

　　Calpurnia was serving Aunt Alexandra more coffee, and she shookher head at what I thought was a pleading winning look. "You'restill too little," she said. "I'll tell you when you ain't." I said itmight help my stomach. "All right," she said, and got a cup from thesideboard. She poured one tablespoonful of coffee into it and filledthe cup to the brim with milk. I thanked her by sticking out my tongueat it, and looked up to catch Aunty's warning frown. But she wasfrowning at Atticus.

　　She waited until Calpurnia was in the kitchen, then she said, "Don'ttalk like that in front of them.""Talk like what in front of whom?" he asked.

　　"Like that in front of Calpurnia. You said Braxton Underwooddespises Negroes right in front of her.""Well, I'm sure Cal knows it. Everybody in Maycomb knows it."I was beginning to notice a subtle change in my father these days,that came out when he talked with Aunt Alexandra. It was a quietdigging in, never outright irritation. There was a faint starchinessin his voice when he said, "Anything fit to say at the table's fitto say in front of Calpurnia. She knows what she means to thisfamily.""I don't think it's a good habit, Atticus. It encourages them. Youknow how they talk among themselves. Every thing that happens inthis town's out to the Quarters before sundown."My father put down his knife. "I don't know of any law that saysthey can't talk. Maybe if we didn't give them so much to talk aboutthey'd be quiet. Why don't you drink your coffee, Scout?"I was playing in it with the spoon. "I thought Mr. Cunningham wasa friend of ours. You told me a long time ago he was.""He still is.""But last night he wanted to hurt you."Atticus placed his fork beside his knife and pushed his plate aside.

　　"Mr. Cunningham's basically a good man," he said, "he just has hisblind spots along with the rest of us."Jem spoke. "Don't call that a blind spot. He'da killed you lastnight when he first went there.""He might have hurt me a little," Atticus conceded, "but son, you'llunderstand folks a little better when you're older. A mob's alwaysmade up of people, no matter what. Mr. Cunningham was part of a moblast night, but he was still a man. Every mob in every little Southerntown is always made up of people you know- doesn't say much forthem, does it?""I'll say not," said Jem.

　　"So it took an eight-year-old child to bring 'em to their senses,didn't it?" said Atticus. "That proves something- that a gang ofwild animals can be stopped, simply because they're still human.

　　Hmp, maybe we need a police force of children… you children lastnight made Walter Cunningham stand in my shoes for a minute. Thatwas enough."Well, I hoped Jem would understand folks a little better when he wasolder; I wouldn't. "First day Walter comes back to school'll be hislast," I affirmed.

　　"You will not touch him," Atticus said flatly. "I don't wanteither of you bearing a grudge about this thing, no matter whathappens.""You see, don't you," said Aunt Alexandra, "what comes of thingslike this. Don't say I haven't told you."Atticus said he'd never say that, pushed out his chair and got up.

　　"There's a day ahead, so excuse me. Jem, I don't want you and Scoutdowntown today, please."As Atticus departed, Dill came bounding down the hall into thediningroom. "It's all over town this morning," he announced, "allabout how we held off a hundred folks with our bare hands…"Aunt Alexandra stared him to silence. "It was not a hundredfolks," she said, "and nobody held anybody off. It was just a nestof those Cunninghams, drunk and disorderly.""Aw, Aunty, that's just Dill's way," said Jem. He signaled us tofollow him.

　　"You all stay in the yard today," she said, as we made our way tothe front porch.

　　It was like Saturday. People from the south end of the county passedour house in a leisurely but steady stream.

　　Mr. Dolphus Raymond lurched by on his thoroughbred. "Don't see howhe stays in the saddle," murmured Jem. "How c'n you stand to get drunk'fore eight in the morning?"A wagonload of ladies rattled past us. They wore cotton sunbonnetsand dresses with long sleeves. A bearded man in a wool hat drove them.

　　"Yonder's some Mennonites," Jem said to Dill. "They don't havebuttons." They lived deep in the woods, did most of their tradingacross the river, and rarely came to Maycomb. Dill was interested.

　　"They've all got blue eyes," Jem explained, "and the men can't shaveafter they marry. Their wives like for 'em to tickle 'em with theirbeards."Mr. X Billups rode by on a mule and waved to us. "He's a funny man,"said Jem. "X's his name, not his initial. He was in court one time andthey asked him his name. He said X Billups. Clerk asked him to spellit and he said X. Asked him again and he said X. They kept at ittill he wrote X on a sheet of paper and held it up for everybody tosee. They asked him where he got his name and he said that's the wayhis folks signed him up when he was born."As the county went by us, Jem gave Dill the histories and generalattitudes of the more prominent figures: Mr. Tensaw Jones voted thestraight Prohibition ticket; Miss Emily Davis dipped snuff in private;Mr. Byron Waller could play the violin; Mr. Jake Slade was cutting histhird set of teeth.

　　A wagonload of unusually stern-faced citizens appeared. When theypointed to Miss Maudie Atkinson's yard, ablaze with summer flowers,Miss Maudie herself came out on the porch. There was an odd thingabout Miss Maudie- on her porch she was too far away for us to see herfeatures clearly, but we could always catch her mood by the way shestood. She was now standing arms akimbo, her shoulders drooping alittle, her head cocked to one side, her glasses winking in thesunlight. We knew she wore a grin of the uttermost wickedness.

　　The driver of the wagon slowed down his mules, and a shrill-voicedwoman called out: "He that cometh in vanity departeth in darkness!"Miss Maudie answered: "A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance!"I guess that the foot-washers thought that the Devil was quotingScripture for his own purposes, as the driver speeded his mules. Whythey objected to Miss Maudie's yard was a mystery, heightened in mymind because for someone who spent all the daylight hours outdoors,Miss Maudie's command of Scripture was formidable.

　　"You goin' to court this morning?" asked Jem. We had strolled over.

　　"I am not," she said. "I have no business with the court thismorning.""Aren't you goin' down to watch?" asked Dill.

　　"I am not. 't's morbid, watching a poor devil on trial for his life.

　　Look at all those folks, it's like a Roman carnival.""They hafta try him in public, Miss Maudie," I said. "Wouldn't beright if they didn't.""I'm quite aware of that," she said. "Just because it's public, Idon't have to go, do I?"Miss Stephanie Crawford came by. She wore a hat and gloves. "Um, um,um," she said. "Look at all those folks- you'd think WilliamJennings Bryan was speakin'.""And where are you going, Stephanie?" inquired Miss Maudie.

　　"To the Jitney Jungle."Miss Maudie said she'd never seen Miss Stephanie go to the JitneyJungle in a hat in her life.

　　"Well," said Miss Stephanie, "I thought I might just look in atthe courthouse, to see what Atticus's up to.""Better be careful he doesn't hand you a subpoena."We asked Miss Maudie to elucidate: she said Miss Stephanie seemed toknow so much about the case she might as well be called on to testify.

　　We held off until noon, when Atticus came home to dinner and saidthey'd spent the morning picking the jury. After dinner, we stopped byfor Dill and went to town.

　　It was a gala occasion. There was no room at the public hitchingrail for another animal, mules and wagons were parked under everyavailable tree. The courthouse square was covered with picnicparties sitting on newspapers, washing down biscuit and syrup withwarm milk from fruit jars. Some people were gnawing on cold chickenand cold fried pork chops. The more affluent chased their food withdrugstore Coca-Cola in bulb-shaped soda glasses. Greasy-faced childrenpopped-the-whip through the crowd, and babies lunched at theirmothers' breasts.

　　In a far corner of the square, the Negroes sat quietly in the sun,dining on sardines, crackers, and the more vivid flavors of Nehi Cola.

　　Mr. Dolphus Raymond sat with them.

　　"Jem," said Dill, "he's drinkin' out of a sack."Mr. Dolphus Raymond seemed to be so doing: two yellow drugstorestraws ran from his mouth to the depths of a brown paper bag.

　　"Ain't ever seen anybody do that," murmured Dill.

　　"How does he keep what's in it in it?"Jem giggled. "He's got a Co-Cola bottle full of whiskey in there.

　　That's so's not to upset the ladies. You'll see him sip it allafternoon, he'll step out for a while and fill it back up.""Why's he sittin' with the colored folks?""Always does. He likes 'em better'n he likes us, I reckon. Livesby himself way down near the county line. He's got a colored woman andall sorts of mixed chillun. Show you some of 'em if we see 'em.""He doesn't look like trash," said Dill.

　　"He's not, he owns all one side of the riverbank down there, andhe's from a real old family to boot.""Then why does he do like that?""That's just his way," said Jem. "They say he never got over hisweddin'. He was supposed to marry one of the- the Spencer ladies, Ithink. They were gonna have a huge weddin', but they didn't- after therehearsal the bride went upstairs and blew her head off. Shotgun.

　　She pulled the trigger with her toes.""Did they ever know why?""No," said Jem, "nobody ever knew quite why but Mr. Dolphus. Theysaid it was because she found out about his colored woman, he reckonedhe could keep her and get married too. He's been sorta drunk eversince. You know, though, he's real good to those chillun-""Jem," I asked, "what's a mixed child?""Half white, half colored. You've seen 'em, Scout. You know thatred-kinky-headed one that delivers for the drugstore. He's half white.

　　They're real sad.""Sad, how come?""They don't belong anywhere. Colored folks won't have 'em becausethey're half white; white folks won't have 'em cause they'recolored, so they're just in-betweens, don't belong anywhere. But Mr.

　　Dolphus, now, they say he's shipped two of his up north. They don'tmind 'em up north. Yonder's one of 'em."A small boy clutching a Negro woman's hand walked toward us. Helooked all Negro to me: he was rich chocolate with flaring nostrilsand beautiful teeth. Sometimes he would skip happily, and the Negrowoman tugged his hand to make him stop.

　　Jem waited until they passed us. "That's one of the little ones," hesaid.

　　"How can you tell?" asked Dill. "He looked black to me.""You can't sometimes, not unless you know who they are. But he'shalf Raymond, all right.""But how can you tell?" I asked.

　　"I told you, Scout, you just hafta know who they are.""Well how do you know we ain't Negroes?""Uncle Jack Finch says we really don't know. He says as far as hecan trace back the Finches we ain't, but for all he knows we mightacome straight out of Ethiopia durin' the Old Testament.""Well if we came out durin' the Old Testament it's too long ago tomatter.""That's what I thought," said Jem, "but around here once you havea drop of Negro blood, that makes you all black. Hey, look-"Some invisible signal had made the lunchers on the square rise andscatter bits of newspaper, cellophane, and wrapping paper. Childrencame to mothers, babies were cradled on hips as men in sweat-stainedhats collected their families and herded them through the courthousedoors. In the far corner of the square the Negroes and Mr. DolphusRaymond stood up and dusted their breeches. There were few women andchildren among them, which seemed to dispel the holiday mood. Theywaited patiently at the doors behind the white families.

　　"Let's go in," said Dill.

　　"Naw, we better wait till they get in, Atticus might not like itif he sees us," said Jem.

　　The Maycomb County courthouse was faintly reminiscent of Arlingtonin one respect: the concrete pillars supporting its south roof weretoo heavy for their light burden. The pillars were all that remainedstanding when the original courthouse burned in 1856. Anothercourthouse was built around them. It is better to say, built inspite of them. But for the south porch, the Maycomb Countycourthouse was early Victorian, presenting an unoffensive vista whenseen from the north. From the other side, however, Greek revivalcolumns clashed with a big nineteenth-century clock tower housing arusty unreliable instrument, a view indicating a people determinedto preserve every physical scrap of the past.

　　To reach the courtroom, on the second floor, one passed sundrysunless county cubbyholes: the tax assessor, the tax collector, thecounty clerk, the county solicitor, the circuit clerk, the judge ofprobate lived in cool dim hutches that smelled of decaying recordbooks mingled with old damp cement and stale urine. It was necessaryto turn on the lights in the daytime; there was always a film ofdust on the rough floorboards. The inhabitants of these offices werecreatures of their environment: little gray-faced men, they seemeduntouched by wind or sun.

　　We knew there was a crowd, but we had not bargained for themultitudes in the first-floor hallway. I got separated from Jem andDill, but made my way toward the wall by the stairwell, knowing Jemwould come for me eventually. I found myself in the middle of theIdlers' Club and made myself as unobtrusive as possible. This was agroup of white-shirted, khaki-trousered, suspendered old men who hadspent their lives doing nothing and passed their twilight days doingsame on pine benches under the live oaks on the square. Attentivecritics of courthouse business, Atticus said they knew as much lawas the Chief Justice, from long years of observation. Normally, theywere the court's only spectators, and today they seemed resentful ofthe interruption of their comfortable routine. When they spoke,their voices sounded casually important. The conversation was about myfather.

　　"…thinks he knows what he's doing," one said.

　　"Oh-h now, I wouldn't say that," said another. "Atticus Finch's adeep reader, a mighty deep reader.""He reads all right, that's all he does." The club snickered.

　　"Lemme tell you somethin' now, Billy," a third said, "you know thecourt appointed him to defend this nigger.""Yeah, but Atticus aims to defend him. That's what I don't likeabout it."This was news, news that put a different light on things: Atticushad to, whether he wanted to or not. I thought it odd that he hadn'tsaid anything to us about it- we could have used it many times indefending him and ourselves. He had to, that's why he was doing it,equaled fewer fights and less fussing. But did that explain the town'sattitude? The court appointed Atticus to defend him. Atticus aimedto defend him. That's what they didn't like about it. It wasconfusing.

　　The Negroes, having waited for the white people to go upstairs,began to come in. "Whoa now, just a minute," said a club member,holding up his walking stick. "Just don't start up them there stairsyet awhile."The club began its stiff-jointed climb and ran into Dill and Jemon their way down looking for me. They squeezed past and Jem called,"Scout, come on, there ain't a seat left. We'll hafta stand up.""Looka there, now." he said irritably, as the black people surgedupstairs. The old men ahead of them would take most of the standingroom. We were out of luck and it was my fault, Jem informed me. Westood miserably by the wall.

　　"Can't you all get in?"Reverend Sykes was looking down at us, black hat in hand.

　　"Hey, Reverend," said Jem. "Naw, Scout here messed us up.""Well, let's see what we can do."Reverend Sykes edged his way upstairs. In a few moments he was back.

　　"There's not a seat downstairs. Do you all reckon it'll be all rightif you all came to the balcony with me?""Gosh yes," said Jem. Happily, we sped ahead of Reverend Sykes tothe courtroom floor. There, we went up a covered staircase andwaited at the door. Reverend Sykes came puffing behind us, and steeredus gently through the black people in the balcony. Four Negroes roseand gave us their front-row seats.

　　The Colored balcony ran along three walls of the courtroom like asecond-story veranda, and from it we could see everything.

　　The jury sat to the left, under long windows. Sunburned, lanky, theyseemed to be all farmers, but this was natural: townfolk rarely sat onjuries, they were either struck or excused. One or two of the jurylooked vaguely like dressed-up Cunninghams. At this stage they satstraight and alert.

　　The circuit solicitor and another man, Atticus and Tom Robinsonsat at tables with their backs to us. There was a brown book andsome yellow tablets on the solicitor's table; Atticus's was bare.

　　Just inside the railing that divided the spectators from thecourt, the witnesses sat on cowhide-bottomed chairs. Their backswere to us.

　　Judge Taylor was on the bench, looking like a sleepy old shark,his pilot fish writing rapidly below in front of him. Judge Taylorlooked like most judges I had ever seen: amiable, white-haired,slightly ruddy-faced, he was a man who ran his court with analarming informality- he sometimes propped his feet up, he oftencleaned his fingernails with his pocket knife. In long equityhearings, especially after dinner, he gave the impression of dozing,an impression dispelled forever when a lawyer once deliberately pusheda pile of books to the floor in a desperate effort to wake him up.

　　Without opening his eyes, Judge Taylor murmured, "Mr. Whitley, do thatagain and it'll cost you one hundred dollars."He was a man learned in the law, and although he seemed to takehis job casually, in reality he kept a firm grip on any proceedingsthat came before him. Only once was Judge Taylor ever seen at a deadstandstill in open court, and the Cunninghams stopped him. OldSarum, their stamping grounds, was populated by two familiesseparate and apart in the beginning, but unfortunately bearing thesame name. The Cunninghams married the Coninghams until the spellingof the names was academic- academic until a Cunningham disputed aConingham over land titles and took to the law. During a controversyof this character, Jeems Cunningham testified that his motherspelled it Cunningham on deeds and things, but she was really aConingham, she was an uncertain speller, a seldom reader, and wasgiven to looking far away sometimes when she sat on the frontgallery in the evening. After nine hours of listening to theeccentricities of Old Sarum's inhabitants, Judge Taylor threw the caseout of court. When asked upon what grounds, Judge Taylor said,"Champertous connivance," and declared he hoped to God the litigantswere satisfied by each having had their public say. They were. Thatwas all they had wanted in the first place.

　　Judge Taylor had one interesting habit. He permitted smoking inhis courtroom but did not himself indulge: sometimes, if one waslucky, one had the privilege of watching him put a long dry cigar intohis mouth and munch it slowly up. Bit by bit the dead cigar woulddisappear, to reappear some hours later as a flat slick mess, itsessence extracted and mingling with Judge Taylor's digestive juices. Ionce asked Atticus how Mrs. Taylor stood to kiss him, but Atticus saidthey didn't kiss much.

　　The witness stand was to the right of Judge Taylor, and when wegot to our seats Mr. Heck Tate was already on it.

　　17"Jem," I said, "are those the Ewells sittin' down yonder?""Hush," said Jem, "Mr. Heck Tate's testifyin'."Mr. Tate had dressed for the occasion. He wore an ordinarybusiness suit, which made him look somehow like every other man:

　　gone were his high boots, lumber jacket, and bullet-studded belt. Fromthat moment he ceased to terrify me. He was sitting forward in thewitness chair, his hands clasped between his knees, listeningattentively to the circuit solicitor.

　　The solicitor, a Mr. Gilmer, was not well known to us. He was fromAbbottsville; we saw him only when court convened, and that rarely,for court was of no special interest to Jem and me. A balding,smooth-faced man, he could have been anywhere between forty and sixty.

　　Although his back was to us, we knew he had a slight cast in one ofhis eyes which he used to his advantage: he seemed to be looking ata person when he was actually doing nothing of the kind, thus he washell on juries and witnesses. The jury, thinking themselves underclose scrutiny, paid attention; so did the witnesses, thinkinglikewise.

　　"…in your own words, Mr. Tate," Mr. Gilmer was saying.

　　"Well," said Mr. Tate, touching his glasses and speaking to hisknees, "I was called-""Could you say it to the jury, Mr. Tate? Thank you. Who called you?"Mr. Tate said, "I was fetched by Bob- by Mr. Bob Ewell yonder, onenight-""What night, sir?"Mr. Tate said, "It was the night of November twenty-first. I wasjust leaving my office to go home when B- Mr. Ewell came in, veryexcited he was, and said get out to his house quick, some nigger'draped his girl.""Did you go?""Certainly. Got in the car and went out as fast as I could.""And what did you find?""Found her lying on the floor in the middle of the front room, oneon the right as you go in. She was pretty well beat up, but I heavedher to her feet and she washed her face in a bucket in the cornerand said she was all right. I asked her who hurt her and she said itwas Tom Robinson-"Judge Taylor, who had been concentrating on his fingernails,looked up as if he were expecting an objection, but Atticus was quiet.

　　"-asked her if he beat her like that, she said yes he had. Asked herif he took advantage of her and she said yes he did. So I went down toRobinson's house and brought him back. She identified him as theone, so I took him in. That's all there was to it.""Thank you," said Mr. Gilmer.

　　Judge Taylor said, "Any questions, Atticus?""Yes," said my father. He was sitting behind his table; his chairwas skewed to one side, his legs were crossed and one arm wasresting on the back of his chair.

　　"Did you call a doctor, Sheriff? Did anybody call a doctor?" askedAtticus.

　　"No sir," said Mr. Tate.

　　"Didn't call a doctor?""No sir," repeated Mr. Tate.

　　"Why not?" There was an edge to Atticus's voice.

　　"Well I can tell you why I didn't. It wasn't necessary, Mr. Finch.

　　She was mighty banged up. Something sho' happened, it was obvious.""But you didn't call a doctor? While you were there did anyonesend for one, fetch one, carry her to one?""No sir-"Judge Taylor broke in. "He's answered the question three times,Atticus. He didn't call a doctor."Atticus said, "I just wanted to make sure, Judge," and the judgesmiled.

　　Jem's hand, which was resting on the balcony rail, tightenedaround it. He drew in his breath suddenly. Glancing below, I saw nocorresponding reaction, and wondered if Jem was trying to be dramatic.

　　Dill was watching peacefully, and so was Reverend Sykes beside him.

　　"What is it?" I whispered, and got a terse, "Sh-h!""Sheriff," Atticus was saying, "you say she was mighty banged up. Inwhat way?""Well-""Just describe her injuries, Heck.""Well, she was beaten around the head. There was already bruisescomin' on her arms, and it happened about thirty minutes before-""How do you know?"Mr. Tate grinned. "Sorry, that's what they said. Anyway, she waspretty bruised up when I got there, and she had a black eye comin'.""Which eye?"Mr. Tate blinked and ran his hands through his hair. "Let's see," hesaid softly, then he looked at Atticus as if he considered thequestion childish. "Can't you remember?" Atticus asked.

　　Mr. Tate pointed to an invisible person five inches in front ofhim and said, "Her left.""Wait a minute, Sheriff," said Atticus. "Was it her left facingyou or her left looking the same way you were?"Mr. Tate said, "Oh yes, that'd make it her right. It was her righteye, Mr. Finch. I remember now, she was bunged up on that side ofher face…"Mr. Tate blinked again, as if something had suddenly been made plainto him. Then he turned his head and looked around at Tom Robinson.

　　As if by instinct, Tom Robinson raised his head.

　　Something had been made plain to Atticus also, and it brought him tohis feet. "Sheriff, please repeat what you said.""It was her right eye, I said.""No…" Atticus walked to the court reporter's desk and bent down tothe furiously scribbling hand. It stopped, flipped back theshorthand pad, and the court reporter said, "'Mr. Finch. I remembernow she was bunged up on that side of the face.'"Atticus looked up at Mr. Tate. "Which side again, Heck?""The right side, Mr. Finch, but she had more bruises- you wanta hearabout 'em?"Atticus seemed to be bordering on another question, but he thoughtbetter of it and said, "Yes, what were her other injuries?" As Mr.

　　Tate answered, Atticus turned and looked at Tom Robinson as if tosay this was something they hadn't bargained for.

　　"…her arms were bruised, and she showed me her neck. There weredefinite finger marks on her gullet-""All around her throat? At the back of her neck?""I'd say they were all around, Mr. Finch.""You would?""Yes sir, she had a small throat, anybody could'a reached aroundit with-""Just answer the question yes or no, please, Sheriff," saidAtticus dryly, and Mr. Tate fell silent.

　　Atticus sat down and nodded to the circuit solicitor, who shookhis head at the judge, who nodded to Mr. Tate, who rose stiffly andstepped down from the witness stand.

　　Below us, heads turned, feet scraped the floor, babies wereshifted to shoulders, and a few children scampered out of thecourtroom. The Negroes behind us whispered softly among themselves;Dill was asking Reverend Sykes what it was all about, but ReverendSykes said he didn't know. So far, things were utterly dull: nobodyhad thundered, there were no arguments between opposing counsel, therewas no drama; a grave disappointment to all present, it seemed.

　　Atticus was proceeding amiably, as if he were involved in a titledispute. With his infinite capacity for calming turbulent seas, hecould make a rape case as dry as a sermon. Gone was the terror in mymind of stale whiskey and barnyard smells, of sleepy-eyed sullenmen, of a husky voice calling in the night, "Mr. Finch? They gone?"Our nightmare had gone with daylight, everything would come out allright.

　　All the spectators were as relaxed as Judge Taylor, except Jem.

　　His mouth was twisted into a purposeful half-grin, and his eyeshappy about, and he said something about corroborating evidence, whichmade me sure he was showing off.

　　"…Robert E. Lee Ewell!"In answer to the clerk's booming voice, a little bantam cock of aman rose and strutted to the stand, the back of his neck reddeningat the sound of his name. When he turned around to take the oath, wesaw that his face was as red as his neck. We also saw no resemblanceto his namesake. A shock of wispy new-washed hair stood up from hisforehead; his nose was thin, pointed, and shiny; he had no chin tospeak of- it seemed to be part of his crepey neck.

　　"-so help me God," he crowed.

　　Every town the size of Maycomb had families like the Ewells. Noeconomic fluctuations changed their status- people like the Ewellslived as guests of the county in prosperity as well as in the depthsof a depression. No truant officers could keep their numerousoffspring in school; no public health officer could free them fromcongenital defects, various worms, and the diseases indigenous tofilthy surroundings.

　　Maycomb's Ewells lived behind the town garbage dump in what was oncea Negro cabin. The cabin's plank walls were supplemented with sheetsof corrugated iron, its roof shingled with tin cans hammered flat,so only its general shape suggested its original design: square,with four tiny rooms opening onto a shotgun hall, the cabin resteduneasily upon four irregular lumps of limestone. Its windows weremerely open spaces in the walls, which in the summertime werecovered with greasy strips of cheesecloth to keep out the varmintsthat feasted on Maycomb's refuse.

　　The varmints had a lean time of it, for the Ewells gave the dump athorough gleaning every day, and the fruits of their industry （thosethat were not eaten） made the plot of ground around the cabin looklike the playhouse of an insane child: what passed for a fence wasbits of tree-limbs, broomsticks and tool shafts, all tipped with rustyhammer-heads, snaggle-toothed rake heads, shovels, axes and grubbinghoes, held on with pieces of barbed wire. Enclosed by this barricadewas a dirty yard containing the remains of a Model-T Ford （on blocks），a discarded dentist's chair, an ancient icebox, plus lesser items: oldshoes, worn-out table radios, picture frames, and fruit jars, underwhich scrawny orange chickens pecked hopefully.

　　One corner of the yard, though, bewildered Maycomb. Against thefence, in a line, were six chipped-enamel slop jars holdingbrilliant red geraniums, cared for as tenderly as if they belongedto Miss Maudie Atkinson, had Miss Maudie deigned to permit ageranium on her premises. People said they were Mayella Ewell's.

　　Nobody was quite sure how many children were on the place. Somepeople said six, others said nine; there were always severaldirty-faced ones at the windows when anyone passed by. Nobody hadoccasion to pass by except at Christmas, when the churches deliveredbaskets, and when the mayor of Maycomb asked us to please help thegarbage collector by dumping our own trees and trash.

　　Atticus took us with him last Christmas when he complied with themayor's request. A dirt road ran from the highway past the dump,down to a small Negro settlement some five hundred yards beyond theEwells'. It was necessary either to back out to the highway or gothe full length of the road and turn around; most people turned aroundin the Negroes' front yards. In the frosty December dusk, their cabinslooked neat and snug with pale blue smoke rising from the chimneys anddoorways glowing amber from the fires inside. There were delicioussmells about: chicken, bacon frying crisp as the twilight air. Jem andI detected squirrel cooking, but it took an old countryman likeAtticus to identify possum and rabbit, aromas that vanished when werode back past the Ewell residence.

　　All the little man on the witness stand had that made him any betterthan his nearest neighbors was, that if scrubbed with lye soap in veryhot water, his skin was white.

　　"Mr. Robert Ewell?" asked Mr. Gilmer.

　　"That's m'name, cap'n," said the witness.

　　Mr. Gilmer's back stiffened a little, and I felt sorry for him.

　　Perhaps I'd better explain something now. I've heard that lawyers'

　　children, on seeing their parents in court in the heat of argument,get the wrong idea: they think opposing counsel to be the personalenemies of their parents, they suffer agonies, and are surprised tosee them often go out arm-in-arm with their tormenters during thefirst recess. This was not true of Jem and me. We acquired notraumas from watching our father win or lose. I'm sorry that I can'tprovide any drama in this respect; if I did, it would not be true.

　　We could tell, however, when debate became more acrimonious thanprofessional, but this was from watching lawyers other than ourfather. I never heard Atticus raise his voice in my life, except toa deaf witness. Mr. Gilmer was doing his job, as Atticus was doinghis. Besides, Mr. Ewell was Mr. Gilmer's witness, and he had nobusiness being rude to him of all people.

　　"Are you the father of Mayella Ewell?" was the next question.

　　"Well, if I ain't I can't do nothing about it now, her ma's dead,"was the answer.

　　Judge Taylor stirred. He turned slowly in his swivel chair andlooked benignly at the witness. "Are you the father of Mayella Ewell?"he asked, in a way that made the laughter below us stop suddenly.

　　"Yes sir," Mr. Ewell said meekly.

　　Judge Taylor went on in tones of good will: "This the first timeyou've ever been in court? I don't recall ever seeing you here." Atthe witness's affirmative nod he continued, "Well, let's get somethingstraight. There will be no more audibly obscene speculations on anysubject from anybody in this courtroom as long as I'm sitting here. Doyou understand?"Mr. Ewell nodded, but I don't think he did. Judge Taylor sighedand said, "All right, Mr. Gilmer?""Thank you, sir. Mr. Ewell, would you tell us in your own words whathappened on the evening of November twenty-first, please?"Jem grinned and pushed his hair back. Just-in-your-own words was Mr.

　　Gilmer's trademark. We often wondered who else's words Mr. Gilmerwas afraid his witness might employ.

　　"Well, the night of November twenty-one I was comin' in from thewoods with a load o'kindlin' and just as I got to the fence I heardMayella screamin' like a stuck hog inside the house-"Here Judge Taylor glanced sharply at the witness and must havedecided his speculations devoid of evil intent, for he subsidedsleepily.

　　"What time was it, Mr. Ewell?""Just 'fore sundown. Well, I was sayin' Mayella was screamin' fit tobeat Jesus-" another glance from the bench silenced Mr. Ewell.

　　"Yes? She was screaming?" said Mr. Gilmer.

　　Mr. Ewell looked confusedly at the judge. "Well, Mayella was raisin'

　　this holy racket so I dropped m'load and run as fast as I could butI run into th' fence, but when I got distangled I run up to th' windowand I seen-" Mr. Ewell's face grew scarlet. He stood up and pointedhis finger at Tom Robinson. "-I seen that black nigger yonderruttin' on my Mayella!"So serene was Judge Taylor's court, that he had few occasions to usehis gavel, but he hammered fully five minutes. Atticus was on his feetat the bench saying something to him, Mr. Heck Tate as first officerof the county stood in the middle aisle quelling the packed courtroom.

　　Behind us, there was an angry muffled groan from the colored people.

　　Reverend Sykes leaned across Dill and me, pulling at Jem's elbow.

　　"Mr. Jem," he said, "you better take Miss Jean Louise home. Mr. Jem,you hear me?"Jem turned his head. "Scout, go home. Dill, you'n'Scout go home.""You gotta make me first," I said, remembering Atticus's blesseddictum.

　　Jem scowled furiously at me, then said to Reverend Sykes, "I thinkit's okay, Reverend, she doesn't understand it."I was mortally offended. "I most certainly do, I c'n understandanything you can.""Aw hush. She doesn't understand it, Reverend, she ain't nine yet."Reverend Sykes's black eyes were anxious. "Mr. Finch know you allare here? This ain't fit for Miss Jean Louise or you boys either."Jem shook his head. "He can't see us this far away. It's allright, Reverend."I knew Jem would win, because I knew nothing could make him leavenow. Dill and I were safe, for a while: Atticus could see us fromwhere he was, if he looked.

　　As Judge Taylor banged his gavel, Mr. Ewell was sitting smugly inthe witness chair, surveying his handiwork. With one phrase he hadturned happy picknickers into a sulky, tense, murmuring crowd, beingslowly hypnotized by gavel taps lessening in intensity until theonly sound in the courtroom was a dim pink-pink-pink: the judgemight have been rapping the bench with a pencil.

　　In possession of his court once more, Judge Taylor leaned back inhis chair. He looked suddenly weary; his age was showing, and Ithought about what Atticus had said- he and Mrs. Taylor didn't kissmuch- he must have been nearly seventy.

　　"There has been a request," Judge Taylor said, "that thiscourtroom be cleared of spectators, or at least of women and children,a request that will be denied for the time being. People generally seewhat they look for, and hear what they listen for, and they have theright to subject their children to it, but I can assure you of onething: you will receive what you see and hear in silence or you willleave this courtroom, but you won't leave it until the whole boilingof you come before me on contempt charges. Mr. Ewell, you will keepyour testimony within the confines of Christian English usage, if thatis possible. Proceed, Mr. Gilmer."Mr. Ewell reminded me of a deaf-mute. I was sure he had neverheard the words Judge Taylor directed at him- his mouth struggledsilently with them- but their import registered on his face.

　　Smugness faded from it, replaced by a dogged earnestness that fooledJudge Taylor not at all: as long as Mr. Ewell was on the stand, thejudge kept his eyes on him, as if daring him to make a false move.

　　Mr. Gilmer and Atticus exchanged glances. Atticus was sitting downagain, his fist rested on his cheek and we could not see his face. Mr.

　　Gilmer looked rather desperate. A question from Judge Taylor madehim relax: "Mr. Ewell, did you see the defendant having sexualintercourse with your daughter?""Yes, I did."The spectators were quiet, but the defendant said something. Atticuswhispered to him, and Tom Robinson was silent.

　　"You say you were at the window?" asked Mr. Gilmer.

　　"Yes sir.""How far is it from the ground?""'bout three foot.""Did you have a clear view of the room?""Yes sir.""How did the room look?""Well, it was all slung about, like there was a fight.""What did you do when you saw the defendant?""Well, I run around the house to get in, but he run out the frontdoor just ahead of me. I sawed who he was, all right. I was toodistracted about Mayella to run after'im. I run in the house and shewas lyin' on the floor squallin'-""Then what did you do?""Why, I run for Tate quick as I could. I knowed who it was, allright, lived down yonder in that nigger-nest, passed the house everyday. Jedge, I've asked this county for fifteen years to clean out thatnest down yonder, they're dangerous to live around 'sides devaluin' myproperty-""Thank you, Mr. Ewell," said Mr. Gilmer hurriedly.

　　The witness made a hasty descent from the stand and ran smack intoAtticus, who had risen to question him. Judge Taylor permitted thecourt to laugh.

　　"Just a minute, sir," said Atticus genially. "Could I ask you aquestion or two?"Mr. Ewell backed up into the witness chair, settled himself, andregarded Atticus with haughty suspicion, an expression common toMaycomb County witnesses when confronted by opposing counsel.

　　"Mr. Ewell," Atticus began, "folks were doing a lot of runningthat night. Let's see, you say you ran to the house, you ran to thewindow, you ran inside, you ran to Mayella, you ran for Mr. Tate.

　　Did you, during all this running, run for a doctor?""Wadn't no need to. I seen what happened.""But there's one thing I don't understand," said Atticus. "Weren'tyou concerned with Mayella's condition?""I most positively was," said Mr. Ewell. "I seen who done it.""No, I mean her physical condition. Did you not think the natureof her injuries warranted immediate medical attention?""What?""Didn't you think she should have had a doctor, immediately?"The witness said he never thought of it, he had never called adoctor to any of his'n in his life, and if he had it would have costhim five dollars. "That all?" he asked.

　　"Not quite," said Atticus casually. "Mr. Ewell, you heard thesheriff's testimony, didn't you?""How's that?""You were in the courtroom when Mr. Heck Tate was on the stand,weren't you? You heard everything he said, didn't you?"Mr. Ewell considered the matter carefully, and seemed to decide thatthe question was safe.

　　"Yes," he said.

　　"Do you agree with his description of Mayella's injuries?""How's that?"Atticus looked around at Mr. Gilmer and smiled. Mr. Ewell seemeddetermined not to give the defense the time of day.

　　"Mr. Tate testified that her right eye was blackened, that she wasbeaten around the-""Oh yeah," said the witness. "I hold with everything Tate said.""You do?" asked Atticus mildly. "I just want to make sure." Hewent to the court reporter, said something, and the reporterentertained us for some minutes by reading Mr. Tate's testimony asif it were stock-market quotations: "…which eye her left oh yesthat'd make it her right it was her right eye Mr. Finch I remember nowshe was bunged." He flipped the page. "Up on that side of the faceSheriff please repeat what you said it was her right eye I said-""Thank you, Bert," said Atticus. "You heard it again, Mr. Ewell.

　　Do you have anything to add to it? Do you agree with the sheriff?""I holds with Tate. Her eye was blacked and she was mighty beat up."The little man seemed to have forgotten his previous humiliationfrom the bench. It was becoming evident that he thought Atticus aneasy match. He seemed to grow ruddy again; his chest swelled, and oncemore he was a red little rooster. I thought he'd burst his shirt atAtticus's next question:

　　"Mr. Ewell, can you read and write?"Mr. Gilmer interrupted. "Objection," he said. "Can't see whatwitness's literacy has to do with the case, irrelevant'n'immaterial."Judge Taylor was about to speak but Atticus said, "Judge, ifyou'll allow the question plus another one you'll soon see.""All right, let's see," said Judge Taylor, "but make sure we see,Atticus. Overruled."Mr. Gilmer seemed as curious as the rest of us as to what bearingthe state of Mr. Ewell's education had on the case.

　　"I'll repeat the question," said Atticus. "Can you read and write?""I most positively can.""Will you write your name and show us?""I most positively will. How do you think I sign my relief checks?"Mr. Ewell was endearing himself to his fellow citizens. The whispersand chuckles below us probably had to do with what a card he was.

　　I was becoming nervous. Atticus seemed to know what he was doing-but it seemed to me that he'd gone frog-sticking without a light.

　　Never, never, never, on cross-examination ask a witness a question youdon't already know the answer to, was a tenet I absorbed with mybaby-food. Do it, and you'll often get an answer you don't want, ananswer that might wreck your case.

　　Atticus was reaching into the inside pocket of his coat. He drew outan envelope, then reached into his vest pocket and unclipped hisfountain pen. He moved leisurely, and had turned so that he was infull view of the jury. He unscrewed the fountain-pen cap and placed itgently on his table. He shook the pen a little, then handed it withthe envelope to the witness. "Would you write your name for us?" heasked. "Clearly now, so the jury can see you do it."Mr. Ewell wrote on the back of the envelope and looked upcomplacently to see Judge Taylor staring at him as if he were somefragrant gardenia in full bloom on the witness stand, to see Mr.

　　Gilmer half-sitting, half-standing at his table. The jury was watchinghim, one man was leaning forward with his hands over the railing.

　　"What's so interestin'?" he asked.

　　"You're left-handed, Mr. Ewell," said Judge Taylor. Mr. Ewell turnedangrily to the judge and said he didn't see what his being left-handedhad to do with it, that he was a Christ-fearing man and AtticusFinch was taking advantage of him. Tricking lawyers like Atticus Finchtook advantage of him all the time with their tricking ways. He hadtold them what happened, he'd say it again and again- which he did.

　　Nothing Atticus asked him after that shook his story, that he'd lookedthrough the window, then ran the nigger off, then ran for the sheriff.

　　Atticus finally dismissed him.

　　Mr. Gilmer asked him one more question. "About your writing withyour left hand, are you ambidextrous, Mr. Ewell?""I most positively am not, I can use one hand good as the other. Onehand good as the other," he added, glaring at the defense table.

　　Jem seemed to be having a quiet fit. He was pounding the balconyrail softly, and once he whispered, "We've got him."I didn't think so: Atticus was trying to show, it seemed to me, thatMr. Ewell could have beaten up Mayella. That much I could follow. Ifher right eye was blacked and she was beaten mostly on the rightside of the face, it would tend to show that a left-handed persondid it. Sherlock Holmes and Jem Finch would agree. But Tom Robinsoncould easily be left-handed, too. Like Mr. Heck Tate, I imagined aperson facing me, went through a swift mental pantomime, and concludedthat he might have held her with his right hand and pounded her withhis left. I looked down at him. His back was to us, but I could seehis broad shoulders and bull-thick neck. He could easily have done it.

　　I thought Jem was counting his chickens.

　　18But someone was booming again.

　　"Mayella Violet Ewell-!"A young girl walked to the witness stand. As she raised her hand andswore that the evidence she gave would be the truth, the wholetruth, and nothing but the truth so help her God, she seemed somehowfragile-looking, but when she sat facing us in the witness chair shebecame what she was, a thick-bodied girl accustomed to strenuouslabor.

　　In Maycomb County, it was easy to tell when someone bathedregularly, as opposed to yearly lavations: Mr. Ewell had a scaldedlook; as if an overnight soaking had deprived him of protective layersof dirt, his skin appeared to be sensitive to the elements. Mayellalooked as if she tried to keep clean, and I was reminded of the row ofred geraniums in the Ewell yard.

　　Mr. Gilmer asked Mayella to tell the jury in her own words whathappened on the evening of November twenty-first of last year, just inher own words, please.

　　Mayella sat silently.

　　"Where were you at dusk on that evening?" began Mr. Gilmerpatiently.

　　"On the porch.""Which porch?""Ain't but one, the front porch.""What were you doing on the porch?""Nothin'."Judge Taylor said, "Just tell us what happened. You can do that,can't you?"Mayella stared at him and burst into tears. She covered her mouthwith her hands and sobbed. Judge Taylor let her cry for a while,then he said, "That's enough now. Don't be 'fraid of anybody here,as long as you tell the truth. All this is strange to you, I know, butyou've nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to fear. What are youscared of?"Mayella said something behind her hands. "What was that?" askedthe judge.

　　"Him," she sobbed, pointing at Atticus.

　　"Mr. Finch?"She nodded vigorously, saying, "Don't want him doin' me like he donePapa, tryin' to make him out lefthanded…"Judge Taylor scratched his thick white hair. It was plain that hehad never been confronted with a problem of this kind. "How old areyou?" he asked.

　　"Nineteen-and-a-half," Mayella said.

　　Judge Taylor cleared his throat and tried unsuccessfully to speak insoothing tones. "Mr. Finch has no idea of scaring you," he growled,"and if he did, I'm here to stop him. That's one thing I'm sittingup here for. Now you're a big girl, so you just sit up straight andtell the- tell us what happened to you. You can do that, can't you?"I whispered to Jem, "Has she got good sense?"Jem was squinting down at the witness stand. "Can't tell yet," hesaid. "She's got enough sense to get the judge sorry for her, butshe might be just- oh, I don't know."Mollified, Mayella gave Atticus a final terrified glance and said toMr. Gilmer, "Well sir, I was on the porch and- and he came alongand, you see, there was this old chiffarobe in the yard Papa'd broughtin to chop up for kindlin'- Papa told me to do it while he was offin the woods but I wadn't feelin' strong enough then, so he came by-""Who is 'he'?"Mayella pointed to Tom Robinson. "I'll have to ask you to be morespecific, please," said Mr. Gilmer. "The reporter can't put downgestures very well.""That'n yonder," she said. "Robinson.""Then what happened?""I said come here, nigger, and bust up this chiffarobe for me, Igotta nickel for you. He coulda done it easy enough, he could. So hecome in the yard an' I went in the house to get him the nickel and Iturned around an 'fore I knew it he was on me. Just run up behindme, he did. He got me round the neck, cussin' me an' sayin' dirt- Ifought'n'hollered, but he had me round the neck. He hit me agin an'

　　agin-"Mr. Gilmer waited for Mayella to collect herself: she had twistedher handkerchief into a sweaty rope; when she opened it to wipe herface it was a mass of creases from her hot hands. She waited for Mr.

　　Gilmer to ask another question, but when he didn't, she said, "-hechunked me on the floor an' choked me'n took advantage of me.""Did you scream?" asked Mr. Gilmer. "Did you scream and fight back?""Reckon I did, hollered for all I was worth, kicked and holleredloud as I could.""Then what happened?""I don't remember too good, but next thing I knew Papa was in theroom a'standing over me hollerin' who done it, who done it? Then Isorta fainted an' the next thing I knew Mr. Tate was pullin' me upoffa the floor and leadin' me to the water bucket."Apparently Mayella's recital had given her confidence, but it wasnot her father's brash kind: there was something stealthy abouthers, like a steady-eyed cat with a twitchy tail.

　　"You say you fought him off as hard as you could? Fought him toothand nail?" asked Mr. Gilmer.

　　"I positively did," Mayella echoed her father.

　　"You are positive that he took full advantage of you?"Mayella's face contorted, and I was afraid that she would cry again.

　　Instead, she said, "He done what he was after."Mr. Gilmer called attention to the hot day by wiping his head withhis hand. "That's all for the time being," he said pleasantly, "butyou stay there. I expect big bad Mr. Finch has some questions to askyou.""State will not prejudice the witness against counsel for thedefense," murmured Judge Taylor primly, "at least not at this time."Atticus got up grinning but instead of walking to the witness stand,he opened his coat and hooked his thumbs in his vest, then he walkedslowly across the room to the windows. He looked out, but didn'tseem especially interested in what he saw, then he turned and strolledback to the witness stand. From long years of experience, I could tellhe was trying to come to a decision about something.

　　"Miss Mayella," he said, smiling, "I won't try to scare you for awhile, not yet. Let's just get acquainted. How old are you?""Said I was nineteen, said it to the judge yonder." Mayella jerkedher head resentfully at the bench.

　　"So you did, so you did, ma'am. You'll have to bear with me, MissMayella, I'm getting along and can't remember as well as I used to.

　　I might ask you things you've already said before, but you'll giveme an answer, won't you? Good."I could see nothing in Mayella's expression to justify Atticus'sassumption that he had secured her wholehearted cooperation. She waslooking at him furiously.

　　"Won't answer a word you say long as you keep on mockin' me," shesaid.

　　"Ma'am?" asked Atticus, startled.

　　"Long's you keep on makin' fun o'me."Judge Taylor said, "Mr. Finch is not making fun of you. What's thematter with you?"Mayella looked from under lowered eyelids at Atticus, but she saidto the judge: "Long's he keeps on callin' me ma'am an sayin' MissMayella. I don't hafta take his sass, I ain't called upon to take it."Atticus resumed his stroll to the windows and let Judge Taylorhandle this one. Judge Taylor was not the kind of figure that everevoked pity, but I did feel a pang for him as he tried to explain.

　　"That's just Mr. Finch's way," he told Mayella. "We've done businessin this court for years and years, and Mr. Finch is always courteousto everybody. He's not trying to mock you, he's trying to be polite.

　　That's just his way."The judge leaned back. "Atticus, let's get on with theseproceedings, and let the record show that the witness has not beensassed, her views to the contrary."I wondered if anybody had ever called her "ma'am," or "Miss Mayella"in her life; probably not, as she took offense to routine courtesy.

　　What on earth was her life like? I soon found out.

　　"You say you're nineteen," Atticus resumed. "How many sisters andbrothers have you?" He walked from the windows back to the stand.

　　"Seb'm," she said, and I wondered if they were all like the specimenI had seen the first day I started to school.

　　"You the eldest? The oldest?""Yes.""How long has your mother been dead?""Don't know- long time.""Did you ever go to school?""Read'n'write good as Papa yonder."Mayella sounded like a Mr. Jingle in a book I had been reading.

　　"How long did you go to school?""Two year- three year- dunno."Slowly but surely I began to see the pattern of Atticus's questions:

　　from questions that Mr. Gilmer did not deem sufficiently irrelevant orimmaterial to object to, Atticus was quietly building up before thejury a picture of the Ewells' home life. The jury learned thefollowing things: their relief check was far from enough to feed thefamily, and there was strong suspicion that Papa drank it up anyway-he sometimes went off in the swamp for days and came home sick; theweather was seldom cold enough to require shoes, but when it was,you could make dandy ones from strips of old tires; the familyhauled its water in buckets from a spring that ran out at one end ofthe dump- they kept the surrounding area clear of trash- and it waseverybody for himself as far as keeping clean went: if you wanted towash you hauled your own water; the younger children had perpetualcolds and suffered from chronic ground-itch; there was a lady who camearound sometimes and asked Mayella why she didn't stay in school-she wrote down the answer; with two members of the family readingand writing, there was no need for the rest of them to learn- Papaneeded them at home.

　　"Miss Mayella," said Atticus, in spite of himself, "anineteen-year-old girl like you must have friends. Who are yourfriends?"The witness frowned as if puzzled. "Friends?""Yes, don't you know anyone near your age, or older, or younger?

　　Boys and girls? Just ordinary friends?"Mayella's hostility, which had subsided to grudging neutrality,flared again. "You makin' fun o'me agin, Mr. Finch?"Atticus let her question answer his.

　　"Do you love your father, Miss Mayella?" was his next.

　　"Love him, whatcha mean?""I mean, is he good to you, is he easy to get along with?""He does tollable, 'cept when-""Except when?"Mayella looked at her father, who was sitting with his chairtipped against the railing. He sat up straight and waited for her toanswer.

　　"Except when nothin'," said Mayella. "I said he does tollable."Mr. Ewell leaned back again.

　　"Except when he's drinking?" asked Atticus so gently that Mayellanodded.

　　"Does he ever go after you?""How you mean?""When he's- riled, has he ever beaten you?"Mayella looked around, down at the court reporter, up at thejudge. "Answer the question, Miss Mayella," said Judge Taylor.

　　"My paw's never touched a hair o'my head in my life," she declaredfirmly. "He never touched me."Atticus's glasses had slipped a little, and he pushed them up on hisnose. "We've had a good visit, Miss Mayella, and now I guess we'dbetter get to the case. You say you asked Tom Robinson to come chop upa- what was it?""A chiffarobe, a old dresser full of drawers on one side.""Was Tom Robinson well known to you?""Whaddya mean?""I mean did you know who he was, where he lived?"Mayella nodded. "I knowed who he was, he passed the house everyday.""Was this the first time you asked him to come inside the fence?"Mayella jumped slightly at the question. Atticus was making his slowpilgrimage to the windows, as he had been doing: he would ask aquestion, then look out, waiting for an answer. He did not see herinvoluntary jump, but it seemed to me that he knew she had moved. Heturned around and raised his eyebrows. "Was-" he began again.

　　"Yes it was.""Didn't you ever ask him to come inside the fence before?"She was prepared now. "I did not, I certainly did not.""One did not's enough," said Atticus serenely. "You never askedhim to do odd jobs for you before?""I mighta," conceded Mayella. "There was several niggers around.""Can you remember any other occasions?""No.""All right, now to what happened. You said Tom Robinson was behindyou in the room when you turned around, that right?""Yes.""You said he 'got you around the neck cussing and saying dirt'- isthat right?""'t's right."Atticus's memory had suddenly become accurate. "You say 'he caughtme and choked me and took advantage of me'- is that right?""That's what I said.""Do you remember him beating you about the face?"The witness hesitated.

　　"You seem sure enough that he choked you. All this time you werefighting back, remember? You 'kicked and hollered as loud as youcould.' Do you remember him beating you about the face?"Mayella was silent. She seemed to be trying to get something clearto herself. I thought for a moment she was doing Mr. Heck Tate's andmy trick of pretending there was a person in front of us. Sheglanced at Mr. Gilmer.

　　"It's an easy question, Miss Mayella, so I'll try again. Do youremember him beating you about the face?" Atticus's voice had lost itscomfortableness; he was speaking in his arid, detached professionalvoice. "Do you remember him beating you about the face?""No, I don't recollect if he hit me. I mean yes I do, he hit me.""Was your last sentence your answer?""Huh? Yes, he hit- I just don't remember, I just don't remember…it all happened so quick."Judge Taylor looked sternly at Mayella. "Don't you cry, youngwoman-" he began, but Atticus said, "Let her cry if she wants to,Judge. We've got all the time in the world."Mayella sniffed wrathfully and looked at Atticus. "I'll answer anyquestion you got- get me up here an' mock me, will you? I'll answerany question you got-""That's fine," said Atticus. "There're only a few more. MissMayella, not to be tedious, you've testified that the defendant hityou, grabbed you around the neck, choked you, and took advantage ofyou. I want you to be sure you have the right man. Will you identifythe man who raped you?""I will, that's him right yonder."Atticus turned to the defendant. "Tom, stand up. Let Miss Mayellahave a good long look at you. Is this the man, Miss Mayella?"Tom Robinson's powerful shoulders rippled under his thin shirt. Herose to his feet and stood with his right hand on the back of hischair. He looked oddly off balance, but it was not from the way he wasstanding. His left arm was fully twelve inches shorter than his right,and hung dead at his side. It ended in a small shriveled hand, andfrom as far away as the balcony I could see that it was no use to him.

　　"Scout," breathed Jem. "Scout, look! Reverend, he's crippled!"Reverend Sykes leaned across me and whispered to Jem. "He got itcaught in a cotton gin, caught it in Mr. Dolphus Raymond's cottongin when he was a boy… like to bled to death… tore all the musclesloose from his bones-"Atticus said, "Is this the man who raped you?""It most certainly is."Atticus's next question was one word long. "How?"Mayella was raging. "I don't know how he done it, but he done it-I said it all happened so fast I-""Now let's consider this calmly-" began Atticus, but Mr. Gilmerinterrupted with an objection: he was not irrelevant or immaterial,but Atticus was browbeating the witness.

　　Judge Taylor laughed outright. "Oh sit down, Horace, he's doingnothing of the sort. If anything, the witness's browbeating Atticus."Judge Taylor was the only person in the courtroom who laughed.

　　Even the babies were still, and I suddenly wondered if they had beensmothered at their mothers' breasts.

　　"Now," said Atticus, "Miss Mayella, you've testified that thedefendant choked and beat you- you didn't say that he sneaked upbehind you and knocked you cold, but you turned around and there hewas-" Atticus was back behind his table, and he emphasized his wordsby tapping his knuckles on it. "-do you wish to reconsider any of yourtestimony?""You want me to say something that didn't happen?""No ma'am, I want you to say something that did happen. Tell us oncemore, please, what happened?""I told'ja what happened.""You testified that you turned around and there he was. He chokedyou then?""Yes.""Then he released your throat and hit you?""I said he did.""He blacked your left eye with his right fist?""I ducked and it- it glanced, that's what it did. I ducked and itglanced off." Mayella had finally seen the light.

　　"You're becoming suddenly clear on this point. A while ago youcouldn't remember too well, could you?""I said he hit me.""All right. He choked you, he hit you, then he raped you, thatright?""It most certainly is.""You're a strong girl, what were you doing all the time, juststanding there?""I told'ja I hollered'n'kicked'n'fought-"Atticus reached up and took off his glasses, turned his good righteye to the witness, and rained questions on her. Judge Taylor said,"One question at a time, Atticus. Give the witness a chance toanswer.""All right, why didn't you run?""I tried…""Tried to? What kept you from it?""I- he slung me down. That's what he did, he slung me down'n goton top of me.""You were screaming all this time?""I certainly was.""Then why didn't the other children hear you? Where were they? Atthe dump?""Where were they?"No answer.

　　"Why didn't your screams make them come running? The dump's closerthan the woods, isn't it?"No answer.

　　"Or didn't you scream until you saw your father in the window? Youdidn't think to scream until then, did you?"No answer.

　　"Did you scream first at your father instead of at Tom Robinson? Wasthat it?"No answer.

　　"Who beat you up? Tom Robinson or your father?"No answer.

　　"What did your father see in the window, the crime of rape or thebest defense to it? Why don't you tell the truth, child, didn't BobEwell beat you up?"When Atticus turned away from Mayella he looked like his stomachhurt, but Mayella's face was a mixture of terror and fury. Atticus satdown wearily and polished his glasses with his handkerchief.

　　Suddenly Mayella became articulate. "I got somethin' to say," shesaid.

　　Atticus raised his head. "Do you want to tell us what happened?"But she did not hear the compassion in his invitation. "I gotsomethin' to say an' then I ain't gonna say no more. That niggeryonder took advantage of me an' if you fine fancy gentlemen don'twanta do nothin' about it then you're all yellow stinkin' cowards,stinkin' cowards, the lot of you. Your fancy airs don't come tonothin'- your ma'amin' and Miss Mayellerin' don't come to nothin', Mr.

　　Finch-"Then she burst into real tears. Her shoulders shook with angry sobs.

　　She was as good as her word. She answered no more questions, even whenMr. Gilmer tried to get her back on the track. I guess if she hadn'tbeen so poor and ignorant, Judge Taylor would have put her under thejail for the contempt she had shown everybody in the courtroom.

　　Somehow, Atticus had hit her hard in a way that was not clear to me,but it gave him no pleasure to do so. He sat with his head down, and Inever saw anybody glare at anyone with the hatred Mayella showedwhen she left the stand and walked by Atticus's table.

　　When Mr. Gilmer told Judge Taylor that the state rested, JudgeTaylor said, "It's time we all did. We'll take ten minutes."Atticus and Mr. Gilmer met in front of the bench and whispered, thenthey left the courtroom by a door behind the witness stand, whichwas a signal for us all to stretch. I discovered that I had beensitting on the edge of the long bench, and I was somewhat numb. Jemgot up and yawned, Dill did likewise, and Reverend Sykes wiped hisface on his hat. The temperature was an easy ninety, he said.

　　Mr. Braxton Underwood, who had been sitting quietly in a chairreserved for the Press, soaking up testimony with his sponge of abrain, allowed his bitter eyes to rove over the colored balcony, andthey met mine. He gave a snort and looked away.

　　"Jem," I said, "Mr. Underwood's seen us.""That's okay. He won't tell Atticus, he'll just put it on the socialside of the Tribune." Jem turned back to Dill, explaining, Isuppose, the finer points of the trial to him, but I wondered whatthey were. There had been no lengthy debates between Atticus and Mr.

　　Gilmer on any points; Mr. Gilmer seemed to be prosecuting almostreluctantly; witnesses had been led by the nose as asses are, with fewobjections. But Atticus had once told us that in Judge Taylor'scourt any lawyer who was a strict constructionist on evidenceusually wound up receiving strict instructions from the bench. Hedistilled this for me to mean that Judge Taylor might look lazy andoperate in his sleep, but he was seldom reversed, and that was theproof of the pudding. Atticus said he was a good judge.

　　Presently Judge Taylor returned and climbed into his swivel chair.

　　He took a cigar from his vest pocket and examined it thoughtfully. Ipunched Dill. Having passed the judge's inspection, the cigar suffereda vicious bite. "We come down sometimes to watch him," I explained.

　　"It's gonna take him the rest of the afternoon, now. You watch."Unaware of public scrutiny from above, Judge Taylor disposed of thesevered end by propelling it expertly to his lips and saying,"Fhluck!" He hit a spittoon so squarely we could hear it slosh. "Bethe was hell with a spitball," murmured Dill.

　　As a rule, a recess meant a general exodus, but today people weren'tmoving. Even the Idlers who had failed to shame younger men from theirseats had remained standing along the walls. I guess Mr. Heck Tate hadreserved the county toilet for court officials.

　　Atticus and Mr. Gilmer returned, and Judge Taylor looked at hiswatch. "It's gettin' on to four," he said, which was intriguing, asthe courthouse clock must have struck the hour at least twice. I hadnot heard it or felt its vibrations.

　　"Shall we try to wind up this afternoon?" asked Judge Taylor. "How'bout it, Atticus?""I think we can," said Atticus.

　　"How many witnesses you got?""One.""Well, call him."19Thomas Robinson reached around, ran his fingers under his left armand lifted it. He guided his arm to the Bible and his rubber-like lefthand sought contact with the black binding. As he raised his righthand, the useless one slipped off the Bible and hit the clerk's table.

　　He was trying again when Judge Taylor growled, "That'll do, Tom."Tom took the oath and stepped into the witness chair. Atticus veryquickly induced him to tell us:

　　Tom was twenty-five years of age; he was married with threechildren; he had been in trouble with the law before: he once receivedthirty days for disorderly conduct.

　　"It must have been disorderly," said Atticus. "What did it consistof?""Got in a fight with another man, he tried to cut me.""Did he succeed?""Yes suh, a little, not enough to hurt. You see, I-" Tom moved hisleft shoulder.

　　"Yes," said Atticus. "You were both convicted?""Yes suh, I had to serve 'cause I couldn't pay the fine. Otherfellow paid his'n."Dill leaned across me and asked Jem what Atticus was doing. Jem saidAtticus was showing the jury that Tom had nothing to hide.

　　"Were you acquainted with Mayella Violet Ewell?" asked Atticus.

　　"Yes suh, I had to pass her place goin' to and from the fieldevery day.""Whose field?""I picks for Mr. Link Deas.""Were you picking cotton in November?""No suh, I works in his yard fall an' wintertime. I works prettysteady for him all year round, he's got a lot of pecan trees'nthings.""You say you had to pass the Ewell place to get to and from work. Isthere any other way to go?""No suh, none's I know of.""Tom, did she ever speak to you?""Why, yes suh, I'd tip m'hat when I'd go by, and one day she askedme to come inside the fence and bust up a chiffarobe for her.""When did she ask you to chop up the- the chiffarobe?""Mr. Finch, it was way last spring. I remember it because it waschoppin' time and I had my hoe with me. I said I didn't have nothin'

　　but this hoe, but she said she had a hatchet. She give me thehatchet and I broke up the chiffarobe. She said, 'I reckon I'llhafta give you a nickel, won't I?' an' I said, 'No ma'am, thereain't no charge.' Then I went home. Mr. Finch, that was way lastspring, way over a year ago.""Did you ever go on the place again?""Yes suh.""When?""Well, I went lots of times."Judge Taylor instinctively reached for his gavel, but let his handfall. The murmur below us died without his help.

　　"Under what circumstances?""Please, suh?""Why did you go inside the fence lots of times?"Tom Robinson's forehead relaxed. "She'd call me in, suh. Seemed likeevery time I passed by yonder she'd have some little somethin' forme to do- choppin' kindlin', totin' water for her. She watered themred flowers every day-""Were you paid for your services?""No suh, not after she offered me a nickel the first time. I wasglad to do it, Mr. Ewell didn't seem to help her none, and neither didthe chillun, and I knowed she didn't have no nickels to spare.""Where were the other children?""They was always around, all over the place. They'd watch me work,some of 'em, some of 'em'd set in the window.""Would Miss Mayella talk to you?""Yes sir, she talked to me."As Tom Robinson gave his testimony, it came to me that Mayella Ewellmust have been the loneliest person in the world. She was evenlonelier than Boo Radley, who had not been out of the house intwenty-five years. When Atticus asked had she any friends, sheseemed not to know what he meant, then she thought he was making funof her. She was as sad, I thought, as what Jem called a mixed child:

　　white people wouldn't have anything to do with her because she livedamong pigs; Negroes wouldn't have anything to do with her becauseshe was white. She couldn't live like Mr. Dolphus Raymond, whopreferred the company of Negroes, because she didn't own a riverbankand she wasn't from a fine old family. Nobody said, "That's just theirway," about the Ewells. Maycomb gave them Christmas baskets, welfaremoney, and the back of its hand. Tom Robinson was probably the onlyperson who was ever decent to her. But she said he took advantage ofher, and when she stood up she looked at him as if he were dirtbeneath her feet.

　　"Did you ever," Atticus interrupted my meditations, "at any time, goon the Ewell property- did you ever set foot on the Ewell propertywithout an express invitation from one of them?""No suh, Mr. Finch, I never did. I wouldn't do that, suh."Atticus sometimes said that one way to tell whether a witness waslying or telling the truth was to listen rather than watch: Iapplied his test- Tom denied it three times in one breath, butquietly, with no hint of whining in his voice, and I found myselfbelieving him in spite of his protesting too much. He seemed to be arespectable Negro, and a respectable Negro would never go up intosomebody's yard of his own volition.

　　"Tom, what happened to you on the evening of November twenty-firstof last year?"Below us, the spectators drew a collective breath and leanedforward. Behind us, the Negroes did the same.

　　Tom was a black-velvet Negro, not shiny, but soft black velvet.

　　The whites of his eyes shone in his face, and when he spoke we sawflashes of his teeth. If he had been whole, he would have been afine specimen of a man.

　　"Mr. Finch," he said, "I was goin' home as usual that evenin', an'

　　when I passed the Ewell place Miss Mayella were on the porch, like shesaid she were. It seemed real quiet like, an' I didn't quite know why.

　　I was studyin' why, just passin' by, when she says for me to comethere and help her a minute. Well, I went inside the fence an'

　　looked around for some kindlin' to work on, but I didn't see none, andshe says, 'Naw, I got somethin' for you to do in the house. Th' olddoor's off its hinges an' fall's comin' on pretty fast.' I said yougot a screwdriver, Miss Mayella? She said she sho' had. Well, I wentup the steps an' she motioned me to come inside, and I went in thefront room an' looked at the door. I said Miss Mayella, this door lookall right. I pulled it back'n forth and those hinges was all right.

　　Then she shet the door in my face. Mr. Finch, I was wonderin' why itwas so quiet like, an' it come to me that there weren't a chile on theplace, not a one of 'em, and I said Miss Mayella, where the chillun?"Tom's black velvet skin had begun to shine, and he ran his hand overhis face.

　　"I say where the chillun?" he continued, "an' she says- she waslaughin', sort of- she says they all gone to town to get ice creams.

　　She says, 'took me a slap year to save seb'm nickels, but I done it.

　　They all gone to town.'"Tom's discomfort was not from the humidity. "What did you saythen, Tom?" asked Atticus.

　　"I said somethin' like, why Miss Mayella, that's right smart o'youto treat 'em. An' she said, 'You think so?' I don't think sheunderstood what I was thinkin'- I meant it was smart of her to savelike that, an' nice of her to treat em.""I understand you, Tom. Go on," said Atticus.

　　"Well, I said I best be goin', I couldn't do nothin' for her, an'

　　she says oh yes I could, an' I ask her what, and she says to just stepon that chair yonder an' git that box down from on top of thechiffarobe.""Not the same chiffarobe you busted up?" asked Atticus.

　　The witness smiled. "Naw suh, another one. Most as tall as the room.

　　So I done what she told me, an' I was just reachin' when the nextthing I knows she- she'd grabbed me round the legs, grabbed me roundth' legs, Mr. Finch. She scared me so bad I hopped down an' turned thechair over- that was the only thing, only furniture, 'sturbed inthat room, Mr. Finch, when I left it. I swear 'fore God.""What happened after you turned the chair over?"Tom Robinson had come to a dead stop. He glanced at Atticus, then atthe jury, then at Mr. Underwood sitting across the room.

　　"Tom, you're sworn to tell the whole truth. Will you tell it?"Tom ran his hand nervously over his mouth.

　　"What happened after that?""Answer the question," said Judge Taylor. One-third of his cigar hadvanished.

　　"Mr. Finch, I got down offa that chair an' turned around an' shesorta jumped on me.""Jumped on you? Violently?""No suh, she- she hugged me. She hugged me round the waist."This time Judge Taylor's gavel came down with a bang, and as itdid the overhead lights went on in the courtroom. Darkness had notcome, but the afternoon sun had left the windows. Judge Taylor quicklyrestored order.

　　"Then what did she do?"The witness swallowed hard. "She reached up an' kissed me 'side ofth' face. She says she never kissed a grown man before an' she mightas well kiss a nigger. She says what her papa do to her don't count.

　　She says, 'Kiss me back, nigger.' I say Miss Mayella lemme outa herean' tried to run but she got her back to the door an' I'da had to pushher. I didn't wanta harm her, Mr. Finch, an' I say lemme pass, butjust when I say it Mr. Ewell yonder hollered through th' window.""What did he say?"Tom Robinson swallowed again, and his eyes widened. "Somethin' notfittin' to say- not fittin' for these folks'n chillun to hear-""What did he say, Tom? You must tell the jury what he said."Tom Robinson shut his eyes tight. "He says you goddamn whore, I'llkill ya.""Then what happened?""Mr. Finch, I was runnin' so fast I didn't know what happened.""Tom, did you rape Mayella Ewell?""I did not, suh.""Did you harm her in any way?""I did not, suh.""Did you resist her advances?""Mr. Finch, I tried. I tried to 'thout bein' ugly to her. I didn'twanta be ugly, I didn't wanta push her or nothin'."It occurred to me that in their own way, Tom Robinson's manners wereas good as Atticus's. Until my father explained it to me later, Idid not understand the subtlety of Tom's predicament: he would nothave dared strike a white woman under any circumstances and expectto live long, so he took the first opportunity to run- a sure signof guilt.

　　"Tom, go back once more to Mr. Ewell," said Atticus. "Did he sayanything to you?""Not anything, suh. He mighta said somethin', but I weren't there-""That'll do," Atticus cut in sharply. "What you did hear, who was hetalking to?""Mr. Finch, he were talkin' and lookin' at Miss Mayella.""Then you ran?""I sho' did, suh.""Why did you run?""I was scared, suh.""Why were you scared?""Mr. Finch, if you was a nigger like me, you'd be scared, too."Atticus sat down. Mr. Gilmer was making his way to the witnessstand, but before he got there Mr. Link Deas rose from the audienceand announced:

　　"I just want the whole lot of you to know one thing right now.

　　That boy's worked for me eight years an' I ain't had a speck o'troubleouta him. Not a speck.""Shut your mouth, sir!" Judge Taylor was wide awake and roaring.

　　He was also pink in the face. His speech was miraculously unimpairedby his cigar. "Link Deas," he yelled, "if you have anything you wantto say you can say it under oath and at the proper time, but untilthen you get out of this room, you hear me? Get out of this room, sir,you hear me? I'll be damned if I'll listen to this case again!"Judge Taylor looked daggers at Atticus, as if daring him to speak,but Atticus had ducked his head and was laughing into his lap. Iremembered something he had said about Judge Taylor's ex cathedraremarks sometimes exceeding his duty, but that few lawyers ever didanything about them. I looked at Jem, but Jem shook his head. "Itain't like one of the jurymen got up and started talking," he said. "Ithink it'd be different then. Mr. Link was just disturbin' the peaceor something."Judge Taylor told the reporter to expunge anything he happened tohave written down after Mr. Finch if you were a nigger like me you'dbe scared too, and told the jury to disregard the interruption. Helooked suspiciously down the middle aisle and waited, I suppose, forMr. Link Deas to effect total departure. Then he said, "Go ahead,Mr. Gilmer.""You were given thirty days once for disorderly conduct,Robinson?" asked Mr. Gilmer.

　　"Yes suh.""What'd the nigger look like when you got through with him?""He beat me, Mr. Gilmer.""Yes, but you were convicted, weren't you?"Atticus raised his head. "It was a misdemeanor and it's in therecord, Judge." I thought he sounded tired.

　　"Witness'll answer, though," said Judge Taylor, just as wearily.

　　"Yes suh, I got thirty days."I knew that Mr. Gilmer would sincerely tell the jury that anyone whowas convicted of disorderly conduct could easily have had it in hisheart to take advantage of Mayella Ewell, that was the only reasonhe cared. Reasons like that helped.

　　"Robinson, you're pretty good at busting up chiffarobes and kindlingwith one hand, aren't you?""Yes, suh, I reckon so.""Strong enough to choke the breath out of a woman and sling her tothe floor?""I never done that, suh.""But you are strong enough to?""I reckon so, suh.""Had your eye on her a long time, hadn't you, boy?""No suh, I never looked at her.""Then you were mighty polite to do all that chopping and hauling forher, weren't you, boy?""I was just tryin' to help her out, suh.""That was mighty generous of you, you had chores at home afteryour regular work, didn't you?""Yes suh.""Why didn't you do them instead of Miss Ewell's?""I done 'em both, suh.""You must have been pretty busy. Why?""Why what, suh?""Why were you so anxious to do that woman's chores?"Tom Robinson hesitated, searching for an answer. "Looked like shedidn't have nobody to help her, like I says-""With Mr. Ewell and seven children on the place, boy?""Well, I says it looked like they never help her none-""You did all this chopping and work from sheer goodness, boy?""Tried to help her, I says."Mr. Gilmer smiled grimly at the jury. "You're a mighty goodfellow, it seems- did all this for not one penny?""Yes, suh. I felt right sorry for her, she seemed to try more'nthe rest of 'em-""You felt sorry for her, you felt sorry for her?" Mr. Gilmerseemed ready to rise to the ceiling.

　　The witness realized his mistake and shifted uncomfortably in thechair. But the damage was done. Below us, nobody liked TomRobinson's answer. Mr. Gilmer paused a long time to let it sink in.

　　"Now you went by the house as usual, last November twenty-first," hesaid, "and she asked you to come in and bust up a chiffarobe?""No suh.""Do you deny that you went by the house?""No suh- she said she had somethin' for me to do inside the house-""She says she asked you to bust up a chiffarobe, is that right?""No suh, it ain't.""Then you say she's lying, boy?"Atticus was on his feet, but Tom Robinson didn't need him. "Idon't say she's lyin', Mr. Gilmer, I say she's mistaken in her mind."To the next ten questions, as Mr. Gilmer reviewed Mayella'sversion of events, the witness's steady answer was that she wasmistaken in her mind.

　　"Didn't Mr. Ewell run you off the place, boy?""No suh, I don't think he did.""Don't think, what do you mean?""I mean I didn't stay long enough for him to run me off.""You're very candid about this, why did you run so fast?""I says I was scared, suh.""If you had a clear conscience, why were you scared?""Like I says before, it weren't safe for any nigger to be in a-fix like that.""But you weren't in a fix- you testified that you were resistingMiss Ewell. Were you so scared that she'd hurt you, you ran, a bigbuck like you?""No suh, I's scared I'd be in court, just like I am now.""Scared of arrest, scared you'd have to face up to what you did?""No suh, scared I'd hafta face up to what I didn't do.""Are you being impudent to me, boy?""No suh, I didn't go to be."This was as much as I heard of Mr. Gilmer's cross-examination,because Jem made me take Dill out. For some reason Dill had startedcrying and couldn't stop; quietly at first, then his sobs were heardby several people in the balcony. Jem said if I didn't go with himhe'd make me, and Reverend Sykes said I'd better go, so I went. Dillhad seemed to be all right that day, nothing wrong with him, but Iguessed he hadn't fully recovered from running away.

　　"Ain't you feeling good?" I asked, when we reached the bottom of thestairs.

　　Dill tried to pull himself together as we ran down the southsteps. Mr. Link Deas was a lonely figure on the top step. "Anythinghappenin', Scout?" he asked as we went by. "No sir," I answered overmy shoulder. "Dill here, he's sick.""Come on out under the trees," I said. "Heat got you, I expect."We chose the fattest live oak and we sat under it.

　　"It was just him I couldn't stand," Dill said.

　　"Who, Tom?""That old Mr. Gilmer doin' him thataway, talking so hateful to him-""Dill, that's his job. Why, if we didn't have prosecutors- well,we couldn't have defense attorneys, I reckon."Dill exhaled patiently. "I know all that, Scout. It was the way hesaid it made me sick, plain sick.""He's supposed to act that way, Dill, he was cross-""He didn't act that way when-""Dill, those were his own witnesses.""Well, Mr. Finch didn't act that way to Mayella and old man Ewellwhen he cross-examined them. The way that man called him 'boy' all thetime an' sneered at him, an' looked around at the jury every time heanswered-""Well, Dill, after all he's just a Negro.""I don't care one speck. It ain't right, somehow it ain't right todo 'em that way. Hasn't anybody got any business talkin' like that- itjust makes me sick.""That's just Mr. Gilmer's way, Dill, he does 'em all that way.

　　You've never seen him get good'n down on one yet. Why, when- well,today Mr. Gilmer seemed to me like he wasn't half trying. They do'em all that way, most lawyers, I mean.""Mr. Finch doesn't.""He's not an example, Dill, he's-" I was trying to grope in mymemory for a sharp phrase of Miss Maudie Atkinson's. I had it: "He'sthe same in the courtroom as he is on the public streets.""That's not what I mean," said Dill.

　　"I know what you mean, boy," said a voice behind us. We thought itcame from the tree-trunk, but it belonged to Mr. Dolphus Raymond. Hepeered around the trunk at us. "You aren't thin-hided, it just makesyou sick, doesn't it?"20"Come on round here, son, I got something that'll settle yourstomach."As Mr. Dolphus Raymond was an evil man I accepted his invitationreluctantly, but I followed Dill. Somehow, I didn't think Atticuswould like it if we became friendly with Mr. Raymond, and I knewAunt Alexandra wouldn't.

　　"Here," he said, offering Dill his paper sack with straws in it.

　　"Take a good sip, it'll quieten you."Dill sucked on the straws, smiled, and pulled at length.

　　"Hee hee," said Mr. Raymond, evidently taking delight incorrupting a child.

　　"Dill, you watch out, now," I warned.

　　Dill released the straws and grinned. "Scout, it's nothing butCoca-Cola."Mr. Raymond sat up against the tree-trunk. He had been lying onthe grass. "You little folks won't tell on me now, will you? It'd ruinmy reputation if you did.""You mean all you drink in that sack's Coca-Cola? Just plainCoca-Cola?""Yes ma'am," Mr. Raymond nodded. I liked his smell: it was ofleather, horses, cottonseed. He wore the only English riding boots Ihad ever seen. "That's all I drink, most of the time.""Then you just pretend you're half-? I beg your pardon, sir," Icaught myself. "I didn't mean to be-"Mr. Raymond chuckled, not at all offended, and I tried to frame adiscreet question: "Why do you do like you do?""Wh- oh yes, you mean why do I pretend? Well, it's very simple,"he said. "Some folks don't- like the way I live. Now I could say thehell with 'em, I don't care if they don't like it. I do say I don'tcare if they don't like it, right enough- but I don't say the hellwith 'em, see?"Dill and I said, "No sir.""I try to give 'em a reason, you see. It helps folks if they canlatch onto a reason. When I come to town, which is seldom, if Iweave a little and drink out of this sack, folks can say DolphusRaymond's in the clutches of whiskey- that's why he won't change hisways. He can't help himself, that's why he lives the way he does.""That ain't honest, Mr. Raymond, making yourself out badder'n youare already-""It ain't honest but it's mighty helpful to folks. Secretly, MissFinch, I'm not much of a drinker, but you see they could never,never understand that I live like I do because that's the way I wantto live."I had a feeling that I shouldn't be here listening to this sinfulman who had mixed children and didn't care who knew it, but he wasfascinating. I had never encountered a being who deliberatelyperpetrated fraud against himself. But why had he entrusted us withhis deepest secret? I asked him why.

　　"Because you're children and you can understand it," he said, "andbecause I heard that one-"He jerked his head at Dill: "Things haven't caught up with thatone's instinct yet. Let him get a little older and he won't get sickand cry. Maybe things'll strike him as being- not quite right, say,but he won't cry, not when he gets a few years on him.""Cry about what, Mr. Raymond?" Dill's maleness was beginning toassert itself.

　　"Cry about the simple hell people give other people- without eventhinking. Cry about the hell white people give colored folks,without even stopping to think that they're people, too.""Atticus says cheatin' a colored man is ten times worse thancheatin' a white man," I muttered. "Says it's the worst thing youcan do."Mr. Raymond said, "I don't reckon it's- Miss Jean Louise, youdon't know your pa's not a run-of-the-mill man, it'll take a few yearsfor that to sink in- you haven't seen enough of the world yet. Youhaven't even seen this town, but all you gotta do is step backinside the courthouse."Which reminded me that we were missing nearly all of Mr. Gilmer'scross-examination. I looked at the sun, and it was dropping fastbehind the store-tops on the west side of the square. Between twofires, I could not decide which I wanted to jump into: Mr. Raymondor the 5th Judicial Circuit Court. "C'mon, Dill," I said. "You allright, now?""Yeah. Glad t've metcha, Mr. Raymond, and thanks for the drink, itwas mighty settlin'."We raced back to the courthouse, up the steps, up two flights ofstairs, and edged our way along the balcony rail. Reverend Sykes hadsaved our seats.

　　The courtroom was still, and again I wondered where the babies were.

　　Judge Taylor's cigar was a brown speck in the center of his mouth; Mr.

　　Gilmer was writing on one of the yellow pads on his table, trying tooutdo the court reporter, whose hand was jerking rapidly. "Shoot," Imuttered, "we missed it."Atticus was halfway through his speech to the jury. He had evidentlypulled some papers from his briefcase that rested beside his chair,because they were on his table. Tom Robinson was toying with them.

　　"…absence of any corroborative evidence, this man was indictedon a capital charge and is now on trial for his life…"I punched Jem. "How long's he been at it?""He's just gone over the evidence," Jem whispered, "and we'regonna win, Scout. I don't see how we can't. He's been at it 'bout fiveminutes. He made it as plain and easy as- well, as I'da explained itto you. You could've understood it, even.""Did Mr. Gilmer-?""Sh-h. Nothing new, just the usual. Hush now."We looked down again. Atticus was speaking easily, with the kindof detachment he used when he dictated a letter. He walked slowly upand down in front of the jury, and the jury seemed to be attentive:

　　their heads were up, and they followed Atticus's route with whatseemed to be appreciation. I guess it was because Atticus wasn't athunderer.

　　Atticus paused, then he did something he didn't ordinarily do. Heunhitched his watch and chain and placed them on the table, saying,"With the court's permission-"Judge Taylor nodded, and then Atticus did something I never sawhim do before or since, in public or in private: he unbuttoned hisvest, unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie, and took off hiscoat. He never loosened a scrap of his clothing until he undressedat bedtime, and to Jem and me, this was the equivalent of him standingbefore us stark naked. We exchanged horrified glances.

　　Atticus put his hands in his pockets, and as he returned to thejury, I saw his gold collar button and the tips of his pen andpencil winking in the light.

　　"Gentlemen," he said. Jem and I again looked at each other:

　　Atticus might have said, "Scout." His voice had lost its aridity,its detachment, and he was talking to the jury as if they were folkson the post office corner.

　　"Gentlemen," he was saying, "I shall be brief, but I would like touse my remaining time with you to remind you that this case is not adifficult one, it requires no minute sifting of complicated facts, butit does require you to be sure beyond all reasonable doubt as to theguilt of the defendant. To begin with, this case should never havecome to trial. This case is as simple as black and white.

　　"The state has not produced one iota of medical evidence to theeffect that the crime Tom Robinson is charged with ever took place. Ithas relied instead upon the testimony of two witnesses whoseevidence has not only been called into serious question oncross-examination, but has been flatly contradicted by thedefendant. The defendant is not guilty, but somebody in this courtroomis.

　　"I have nothing but pity in my heart for the chief witness for thestate, but my pity does not extend so far as to her putting a man'slife at stake, which she has done in an effort to get rid of her ownguilt.

　　"I say guilt, gentlemen, because it was guilt that motivated her.

　　She has committed no crime, she has merely broken a rigid andtime-honored code of our society, a code so severe that whoever breaksit is hounded from our midst as unfit to live with. She is thevictim of cruel poverty and ignorance, but I cannot pity her: she iswhite. She knew full well the enormity of her offense, but because herdesires were stronger than the code she was breaking, she persisted inbreaking it. She persisted, and her subsequent reaction is somethingthat all of us have known at one time or another. She did somethingevery child has done- she tried to put the evidence of her offenseaway from her. But in this case she was no child hiding stolencontraband: she struck out at her victim- of necessity she must puthim away from her- he must be removed from her presence, from thisworld. She must destroy the evidence of her offense.

　　"What was the evidence of her offense? Tom Robinson, a humanbeing. She must put Tom Robinson away from her. Tom Robinson was herdaily reminder of what she did. What did she do? She tempted a Negro.

　　"She was white, and she tempted a Negro. She did something that inour society is unspeakable: she kissed a black man. Not an oldUncle, but a strong young Negro man. No code mattered to her beforeshe broke it, but it came crashing down on her afterwards.

　　"Her father saw it, and the defendant has testified as to hisremarks. What did her father do? We don't know, but there iscircumstantial evidence to indicate that Mayella Ewell was beatensavagely by someone who led almost exclusively with his left. We doknow in part what Mr. Ewell did: he did what any God-fearing,persevering, respectable white man would do under the circumstances-he swore out a warrant, no doubt signing it with his left hand, andTom Robinson now sits before you, having taken the oath with theonly good hand he possesses- his right hand.

　　"And so a quiet, respectable, humble Negro who had the unmitigatedtemerity to 'feel sorry' for a white woman has had to put his wordagainst two white people's. I need not remind you of theirappearance and conduct on the stand- you saw them for yourselves.

　　The witnesses for the state, with the exception of the sheriff ofMaycomb County, have presented themselves to you gentlemen, to thiscourt, in the cynical confidence that their testimony would not bedoubted, confident that you gentlemen would go along with them onthe assumption- the evil assumption- that all Negroes lie, thatall Negroes are basically immoral beings, that all Negro men arenot to be trusted around our women, an assumption one associateswith minds of their caliber.

　　"Which, gentlemen, we know is in itself a lie as black as TomRobinson's skin, a lie I do not have to point out to you. You know thetruth, and the truth is this: some Negroes lie, some Negroes areimmoral, some Negro men are not to be trusted around women- black orwhite. But this is a truth that applies to the human race and to noparticular race of men. There is not a person in this courtroom whohas never told a lie, who has never done an immoral thing, and thereis no man living who has never looked upon a woman without desire."Atticus paused and took out his handkerchief. Then he took off hisglasses and wiped them, and we saw another "first": we had neverseen him sweat- he was one of those men whose faces never perspired,but now it was shining tan.

　　"One more thing, gentlemen, before I quit. Thomas Jefferson oncesaid that all men are created equal, a phrase that the Yankees and thedistaff side of the Executive branch in Washington are fond of hurlingat us. There is a tendency in this year of grace, 1935, for certainpeople to use this phrase out of context, to satisfy all conditions.

　　The most ridiculous example I can think of is that the people whorun public education promote the stupid and idle along with theindustrious- because all men are created equal, educators will gravelytell you, the children left behind suffer terrible feelings ofinferiority. We know all men are not created equal in the sense somepeople would have us believe- some people are smarter than others,some people have more opportunity because they're born with it, somemen make more money than others, some ladies make better cakes thanothers- some people are born gifted beyond the normal scope of mostmen.

　　"But there is one way in this country in which all men are createdequal- there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal ofa Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and theignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution,gentlemen, is a court. It can be the Supreme Court of the UnitedStates or the humblest J.P. court in the land, or this honorable courtwhich you serve. Our courts have their faults, as does any humaninstitution, but in this country our courts are the great levelers,and in our courts all men are created equal.

　　"I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courtsand in the jury system- that is no ideal to me, it is a living,working reality. Gentlemen, a court is no better than each man ofyou sitting before me on this jury. A court is only as sound as itsjury, and a jury is only as sound as the men who make it up. I amconfident that you gentlemen will review without passion theevidence you have heard, come to a decision, and restore thisdefendant to his family. In the name of God, do your duty."Atticus's voice had dropped, and as he turned away from the juryhe said something I did not catch. He said it more to himself thanto the court. I punched Jem. "What'd he say?""'In the name of God, believe him,' I think that's what he said."Dill suddenly reached over me and tugged at Jem. "Looka yonder!"We followed his finger with sinking hearts. Calpurnia was making herway up the middle aisle, walking straight toward Atticus.

　　21She stopped shyly at the railing and waited to get Judge Taylor'sattention. She was in a fresh apron and she carried an envelope in herhand.

　　Judge Taylor saw her and said, "It's Calpurnia, isn't it?""Yes sir," she said. "Could I just pass this note to Mr. Finch,please sir? It hasn't got anything to do with- with the trial."Judge Taylor nodded and Atticus took the envelope from Calpurnia. Heopened it, read its contents and said, "Judge, I- this note is from mysister. She says my children are missing, haven't turned up sincenoon… I… could you-""I know where they are, Atticus." Mr. Underwood spoke up. "They'reright up yonder in the colored balcony- been there since preciselyone-eighteen P.M."Our father turned around and looked up. "Jem, come down from there,"he called. Then he said something to the Judge we didn't hear. Weclimbed across Reverend Sykes and made our way to the staircase.

　　Atticus and Calpurnia met us downstairs. Calpurnia looked peeved,but Atticus looked exhausted.

　　Jem was jumping in excitement. "We've won, haven't we?""I've no idea," said Atticus shortly. "You've been here allafternoon? Go home with Calpurnia and get your supper- and stay home.""Aw, Atticus, let us come back," pleaded Jem. "Please let us hearthe verdict, please sir.""The jury might be out and back in a minute, we don't know-" butwe could tell Atticus was relenting. "Well, you've heard it all, soyou might as well hear the rest. Tell you what, you all can comeback when you've eaten your supper- eat slowly, now, you won't missanything important- and if the jury's still out, you can wait with us.

　　But I expect it'll be over before you get back.""You think they'll acquit him that fast?" asked Jem.

　　Atticus opened his mouth to answer, but shut it and left us.

　　I prayed that Reverend Sykes would save our seats for us, butstopped praying when I remembered that people got up and left indroves when the jury was out- tonight, they'd overrun the drugstore,the O.K. Cafe and the hotel, that is, unless they had brought theirsuppers too.

　　Calpurnia marched us home: "-skin every one of you alive, the veryidea, you children listenin' to all that! Mister Jem, don't you knowbetter'n to take your little sister to that trial? Miss Alexandra'llabsolutely have a stroke of paralysis when she finds out! Ain'tfittin' for children to hear…"The streetlights were on, and we glimpsed Calpurnia's indignantprofile as we passed beneath them. "Mister Jem, I thought you wasgettin' some kinda head on your shoulders- the very idea, she's yourlittle sister! The very idea, sir! You oughta be perfectly ashamedof yourself- ain't you got any sense at all?"I was exhilarated. So many things had happened so fast I felt itwould take years to sort them out, and now here was Calpurnia givingher precious Jem down the country- what new marvels would theevening bring?

　　Jem was chuckling. "Don't you want to hear about it, Cal?""Hush your mouth, sir! When you oughta be hangin' your head in shameyou go along laughin'-" Calpurnia revived a series of rusty threatsthat moved Jem to little remorse, and she sailed up the front stepswith her classic, "If Mr. Finch don't wear you out, I will- get inthat house, sir!"Jem went in grinning, and Calpurnia nodded tacit consent to havingDill in to supper. "You all call Miss Rachel right now and tell herwhere you are," she told him. "She's run distracted lookin' for you-you watch out she don't ship you back to Meridian first thing in themornin'."Aunt Alexandra met us and nearly fainted when Calpurnia told herwhere we were. I guess it hurt her when we told her Atticus said wecould go back, because she didn't say a word during supper. She justrearranged food on her plate, looking at it sadly while Calpurniaserved Jem, Dill and me with a vengeance. Calpurnia poured milk,dished out potato salad and ham, muttering, "'shamed of yourselves,"in varying degrees of intensity. "Now you all eat slow," was her finalcommand.

　　Reverend Sykes had saved our places. We were surprised to findthat we had been gone nearly an hour, and were equally surprised tofind the courtroom exactly as we had left it, with minor changes:

　　the jury box was empty, the defendant was gone; Judge Taylor hadbeen gone, but he reappeared as we were seating ourselves.

　　"Nobody's moved, hardly," said Jem.

　　"They moved around some when the jury went out," said ReverendSykes. "The menfolk down there got the womenfolk their suppers, andthey fed their babies.""How long have they been out?" asked Jem.

　　"'bout thirty minutes. Mr. Finch and Mr. Gilmer did some moretalkin', and Judge Taylor charged the jury.""How was he?" asked Jem.

　　"What say? Oh, he did right well. I ain't complainin' one bit- hewas mighty fair-minded. He sorta said if you believe this, then you'llhave to return one verdict, but if you believe this, you'll have toreturn another one. I thought he was leanin' a little to our side-"Reverend Sykes scratched his head.

　　Jem smiled. "He's not supposed to lean, Reverend, but don't fret,we've won it," he said wisely. "Don't see how any jury could convicton what we heard-""Now don't you be so confident, Mr. Jem, I ain't ever seen anyjury decide in favor of a colored man over a white man…" But Jemtook exception to Reverend Sykes, and we were subjected to a lengthyreview of the evidence with Jem's ideas on the law regarding rape:

　　it wasn't rape if she let you, but she had to be eighteen- in Alabama,that is- and Mayella was nineteen. Apparently you had to kick andholler, you had to be overpowered and stomped on, preferably knockedstone cold. If you were under eighteen, you didn't have to gothrough all this.

　　"Mr. Jem," Reverend Sykes demurred, "this ain't a polite thing forlittle ladies to hear…""Aw, she doesn't know what we're talkin' about," said Jem. "Scout,this is too old for you, ain't it?""It most certainly is not, I know every word you're saying." PerhapsI was too convincing, because Jem hushed and never discussed thesubject again.

　　"What time is it, Reverend?" he asked.

　　"Gettin' on toward eight."I looked down and saw Atticus strolling around with his hands in hispockets: he made a tour of the windows, then walked by the railingover to the jury box. He looked in it, inspected Judge Taylor on histhrone, then went back to where he started. I caught his eye and wavedto him. He acknowledged my salute with a nod, and resumed his tour.

　　Mr. Gilmer was standing at the windows talking to Mr. Underwood.

　　Bert, the court reporter, was chain-smoking: he sat back with his feeton the table.

　　But the officers of the court, the ones present- Atticus, Mr.

　　Gilmer, Judge Taylor sound asleep, and Bert, were the only oneswhose behavior seemed normal. I had never seen a packed courtroom sostill. Sometimes a baby would cry out fretfully, and a child wouldscurry out, but the grown people sat as if they were in church. In thebalcony, the Negroes sat and stood around us with biblical patience.

　　The old courthouse clock suffered its preliminary strain andstruck the hour, eight deafening bongs that shook our bones.

　　When it bonged eleven times I was past feeling: tired fromfighting sleep, I allowed myself a short nap against ReverendSykes's comfortable arm and shoulder. I jerked awake and made anhonest effort to remain so, by looking down and concentrating on theheads below: there were sixteen bald ones, fourteen men that couldpass for redheads, forty heads varying between brown and black, and- Iremembered something Jem had once explained to me when he went througha brief period of psychical research: he said if enough people- astadium full, maybe- were to concentrate on one thing, such as settinga tree afire in the woods, that the tree would ignite of its ownaccord. I toyed with the idea of asking everyone below toconcentrate on setting Tom Robinson free, but thought if they wereas tired as I, it wouldn't work.

　　Dill was sound asleep, his head on Jem's shoulder, and Jem wasquiet.

　　"Ain't it a long time?" I asked him.

　　"Sure is, Scout," he said happily.

　　"Well, from the way you put it, it'd just take five minutes."Jem raised his eyebrows. "There are things you don't understand," hesaid, and I was too weary to argue.

　　But I must have been reasonably awake, or I would not havereceived the impression that was creeping into me. It was not unlikeone I had last winter, and I shivered, though the night was hot. Thefeeling grew until the atmosphere in the courtroom was exactly thesame as a cold February morning, when the mockingbirds were still, andthe carpenters had stopped hammering on Miss Maudie's new house, andevery wood door in the neighborhood was shut as tight as the doorsof the Radley Place. A deserted, waiting, empty street, and thecourtroom was packed with people. A steaming summer night was nodifferent from a winter morning. Mr. Heck Tate, who had entered thecourtroom and was talking to Atticus, might have been wearing his highboots and lumber jacket. Atticus had stopped his tranquil journeyand had put his foot onto the bottom rung of a chair; as he listenedto what Mr. Tate was saying, he ran his hand slowly up and down histhigh. I expected Mr. Tate to say any minute, "Take him, Mr.

　　Finch…"But Mr. Tate said, "This court will come to order," in a voicethat rang with authority, and the heads below us jerked up. Mr. Tateleft the room and returned with Tom Robinson. He steered Tom to hisplace beside Atticus, and stood there. Judge Taylor had roused himselfto sudden alertness and was sitting up straight, looking at theempty jury box.

　　What happened after that had a dreamlike quality: in a dream I sawthe jury return, moving like underwater swimmers, and Judge Taylor'svoice came from far away and was tiny. I saw something only a lawyer'schild could be expected to see, could be expected to watch for, and itwas like watching Atticus walk into the street, raise a rifle to hisshoulder and pull the trigger, but watching all the time knowingthat the gun was empty.

　　A jury never looks at a defendant it has convicted, and when thisjury came in, not one of them looked at Tom Robinson. The foremanhanded a piece of paper to Mr. Tate who handed it to the clerk whohanded it to the judge…I shut my eyes. Judge Taylor was polling the jury: "Guilty…guilty… guilty… guilty…" I peeked at Jem: his hands were whitefrom gripping the balcony rail, and his shoulders jerked as if each"guilty" was a separate stab between them.

　　Judge Taylor was saying something. His gavel was in his fist, but hewasn't using it. Dimly, I saw Atticus pushing papers from the tableinto his briefcase. He snapped it shut, went to the court reporter andsaid something, nodded to Mr. Gilmer, and then went to Tom Robinsonand whispered something to him. Atticus put his hand on Tom's shoulderas he whispered. Atticus took his coat off the back of his chair andpulled it over his shoulder. Then he left the courtroom, but not byhis usual exit. He must have wanted to go home the short way,because he walked quickly down the middle aisle toward the south exit.

　　I followed the top of his head as he made his way to the door. Hedid not look up.

　　Someone was punching me, but I was reluctant to take my eyes fromthe people below us, and from the image of Atticus's lonely walkdown the aisle.

　　"Miss Jean Louise?"I looked around. They were standing. All around us and in thebalcony on the opposite wall, the Negroes were getting to theirfeet. Reverend Sykes's voice was as distant as Judge Taylor's:

　　"Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin'."22It was Jem's turn to cry. His face was streaked with angry tearsas we made our way through the cheerful crowd. "It ain't right," hemuttered, all the way to the corner of the square where we foundAtticus waiting. Atticus was standing under the street light lookingas though nothing had happened: his vest was buttoned, his collarand tie were neatly in place, his watch-chain glistened, he was hisimpassive self again.

　　"It ain't right, Atticus," said Jem.

　　"No son, it's not right."We walked home.

　　Aunt Alexandra was waiting up. She was in her dressing gown, and Icould have sworn she had on her corset underneath it. "I'm sorry,brother," she murmured. Having never heard her call Atticus"brother" before, I stole a glance at Jem, but he was not listening.

　　He would look up at Atticus, then down at the floor, and I wondered ifhe thought Atticus somehow responsible for Tom Robinson's conviction.

　　"Is he all right?" Aunty asked, indicating Jem.

　　"He'll be so presently," said Atticus. "It was a little too strongfor him." Our father sighed. "I'm going to bed," he said. "If Idon't wake up in the morning, don't call me.""I didn't think it wise in the first place to let them-""This is their home, sister," said Atticus. "We've made it thisway for them, they might as well learn to cope with it.""But they don't have to go to the courthouse and wallow in it-""It's just as much Maycomb County as missionary teas.""Atticus-" Aunt Alexandra's eyes were anxious. "You are the lastperson I thought would turn bitter over this.""I'm not bitter, just tired. I'm going to bed.""Atticus-" said Jem bleakly.

　　He turned in the doorway. "What, son?""How could they do it, how could they?""I don't know, but they did it. They've done it before and theydid it tonight and they'll do it again and when they do it- seems thatonly children weep. Good night."But things are always better in the morning. Atticus rose at hisusual ungodly hour and was in the livingroom behind the MobileRegister when we stumbled in. Jem's morning face posed the questionhis sleepy lips struggled to ask.

　　"It's not time to worry yet," Atticus reassured him, as we went tothe diningroom. "We're not through yet. There'll be an appeal, you cancount on that. Gracious alive, Cal, what's all this?" He was staringat his breakfast plate.

　　Calpurnia said, "Tom Robinson's daddy sent you along this chickenthis morning. I fixed it.""You tell him I'm proud to get it- bet they don't have chicken forbreakfast at the White House. What are these?""Rolls," said Calpurnia. "Estelle down at the hotel sent 'em."Atticus looked up at her, puzzled, and she said, "You better stepout here and see what's in the kitchen, Mr. Finch."We followed him. The kitchen table was loaded with enough food tobury the family: hunks of salt pork, tomatoes, beans, evenscuppernongs. Atticus grinned when he found a jar of pickled pigs'

　　knuckles. "Reckon Aunty'll let me eat these in the diningroom?"Calpurnia said, "This was all 'round the back steps when I gothere this morning. They- they 'preciate what you did, Mr. Finch. They-they aren't oversteppin' themselves, are they?"Atticus's eyes filled with tears. He did not speak for a moment.

　　"Tell them I'm very grateful," he said. "Tell them- tell them theymust never do this again. Times are too hard…"He left the kitchen, went in the diningroom and excused himself toAunt Alexandra, put on his hat and went to town.

　　We heard Dill's step in the hall, so Calpurnia left Atticus'suneaten breakfast on the table. Between rabbit-bites Dill told us ofMiss Rachel's reaction to last night, which was: if a man like AtticusFinch wants to butt his head against a stone wall it's his head.

　　"I'da got her told," growled Dill, gnawing a chicken leg, "but shedidn't look much like tellin' this morning. Said she was up half thenight wonderin' where I was, said she'da had the sheriff after mebut he was at the hearing.""Dill, you've got to stop goin' off without tellin' her," saidJem. "It just aggravates her."Dill sighed patiently. "I told her till I was blue in the face whereI was goin'- she's just seein' too many snakes in the closet. Bet thatwoman drinks a pint for breakfast every morning- know she drinks twoglasses full. Seen her.""Don't talk like that, Dill," said Aunt Alexandra. "It's notbecoming to a child. It's- cynical.""I ain't cynical, Miss Alexandra. Tellin' the truth's not cynical,is it?""The way you tell it, it is."Jem's eyes flashed at her, but he said to Dill, "Let's go. You cantake that runner with you."When we went to the front porch, Miss Stephanie Crawford was busytelling it to Miss Maudie Atkinson and Mr. Avery. They looked aroundat us and went on talking. Jem made a feral noise in his throat. Iwished for a weapon.

　　"I hate grown folks lookin' at you," said Dill. "Makes you feel likeyou've done something."Miss Maudie yelled for Jem Finch to come there.

　　Jem groaned and heaved himself up from the swing. "We'll go withyou," Dill said.

　　Miss Stephanie's nose quivered with curiosity. She wanted to knowwho all gave us permission to go to court- she didn't see us but itwas all over town this morning that we were in the Colored balcony.

　　Did Atticus put us up there as a sort of-? Wasn't it right close upthere with all those-? Did Scout understand all the-? Didn't it makeus mad to see our daddy beat?

　　"Hush, Stephanie." Miss Maudie's diction was deadly. "I've not gotall the morning to pass on the porch- Jem Finch, I called to findout if you and your colleagues can eat some cake. Got up at five tomake it, so you better say yes. Excuse us, Stephanie. Good morning,Mr. Avery."There was a big cake and two little ones on Miss Maudie's kitchentable. There should have been three little ones. It was not likeMiss Maudie to forget Dill, and we must have shown it. But weunderstood when she cut from the big cake and gave the slice to Jem.

　　As we ate, we sensed that this was Miss Maudie's way of sayingthat as far as she was concerned, nothing had changed. She sat quietlyin a kitchen chair, watching us.

　　Suddenly she spoke: "Don't fret, Jem. Things are never as bad asthey seem."Indoors, when Miss Maudie wanted to say something lengthy she spreadher fingers on her knees and settled her bridgework. This she did, andwe waited.

　　"I simply want to tell you that there are some men in this world whowere born to do our unpleasant jobs for us. Your father's one ofthem.""Oh," said Jem. "Well.""Don't you oh well me, sir," Miss Maudie replied, recognizingJem's fatalistic noises, "you are not old enough to appreciate whatI said."Jem was staring at his half-eaten cake. "It's like bein' acaterpillar in a cocoon, that's what it is," he said. "Likesomethin' asleep wrapped up in a warm place. I always thoughtMaycomb folks were the best folks in the world, least that's what theyseemed like.""We're the safest folks in the world," said Miss Maudie. "We're sorarely called on to be Christians, but when we are, we've got men likeAtticus to go for us."Jem grinned ruefully. "Wish the rest of the county thought that.""You'd be surprised how many of us do.""Who?" Jem's voice rose. "Who in this town did one thing to help TomRobinson, just who?""His colored friends for one thing, and people like us. Peoplelike Judge Taylor. People like Mr. Heck Tate. Stop eating and startthinking, Jem. Did it ever strike you that Judge Taylor naming Atticusto defend that boy was no accident? That Judge Taylor might have hadhis reasons for naming him?"This was a thought. Court-appointed defenses were usually given toMaxwell Green, Maycomb's latest addition to the bar, who needed theexperience. Maxwell Green should have had Tom Robinson's case.

　　"You think about that," Miss Maudie was saying. "It was no accident.

　　I was sittin' there on the porch last night, waiting. I waited andwaited to see you all come down the sidewalk, and as I waited Ithought, Atticus Finch won't win, he can't win, but he's the onlyman in these parts who can keep a jury out so long in a case likethat. And I thought to myself, well, we're making a step- it's justa baby-step, but it's a step.""'t's all right to talk like that- can't any Christian judges an'

　　lawyers make up for heathen juries," Jem muttered. "Soon's I getgrown-""That's something you'll have to take up with your father," MissMaudie said.

　　We went down Miss Maudie's cool new steps into the sunshine andfound Mr. Avery and Miss Stephanie Crawford still at it. They hadmoved down the sidewalk and were standing in front of Miss Stephanie'shouse. Miss Rachel was walking toward them.

　　"I think I'll be a clown when I get grown," said Dill.

　　Jem and I stopped in our tracks.

　　"Yes sir, a clown," he said. "There ain't one thing in this worldI can do about folks except laugh, so I'm gonna join the circus andlaugh my head off.""You got it backwards, Dill," said Jem. "Clowns are sad, it'sfolks that laugh at them.""Well I'm gonna be a new kind of clown. I'm gonna stand in themiddle of the ring and laugh at the folks. Just looka yonder," hepointed. "Every one of 'em oughta be ridin' broomsticks. Aunt Rachelalready does."Miss Stephanie and Miss Rachel were waving wildly at us, in a waythat did not give the lie to Dill's observation.

　　"Oh gosh," breathed Jem. "I reckon it'd be ugly not to see 'em."Something was wrong. Mr. Avery was red in the face from a sneezingspell and nearly blew us off the sidewalk when we came up. MissStephanie was trembling with excitement, and Miss Rachel caught Dill'sshoulder. "You get on in the back yard and stay there," she said.

　　"There's danger a'comin'.""'s matter?" I asked.

　　"Ain't you heard yet? It's all over town-"At that moment Aunt Alexandra came to the door and called us, butshe was too late. It was Miss Stephanie's pleasure to tell us: thismorning Mr. Bob Ewell stopped Atticus on the post office corner,spat in his face, and told him he'd get him if it took the rest of hislife.

　　23"I wish Bob Ewell wouldn't chew tobacco," was all Atticus said aboutit.

　　According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, however, Atticus was leavingthe post office when Mr. Ewell approached him, cursed him, spat onhim, and threatened to kill him. Miss Stephanie （who, by the timeshe had told it twice was there and had seen it all- passing by fromthe Jitney Jungle, she was）- Miss Stephanie said Atticus didn't bat aneye, just took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and stood thereand let Mr. Ewell call him names wild horses could not bring her torepeat. Mr. Ewell was a veteran of an obscure war; that plus Atticus'speaceful reaction probably prompted him to inquire, "Too proud tofight, you nigger-lovin' bastard?" Miss Stephanie said Atticus said,"No, too old," put his hands in his pockets and strolled on. MissStephanie said you had to hand it to Atticus Finch, he could beright dry sometimes.

　　Jem and I didn't think it entertaining.

　　"After all, though," I said, "he was the deadest shot in thecounty one time. He could-""You know he wouldn't carry a gun, Scout. He ain't even got one-"said Jem. "You know he didn't even have one down at the jail thatnight. He told me havin' a gun around's an invitation to somebody toshoot you.""This is different," I said. "We can ask him to borrow one."We did, and he said, "Nonsense."Dill was of the opinion that an appeal to Atticus's better naturemight work: after all, we would starve if Mr. Ewell killed him,besides be raised exclusively by Aunt Alexandra, and we all knew thefirst thing she'd do before Atticus was under the ground good would beto fire Calpurnia. Jem said it might work if I cried and flung afit, being young and a girl. That didn't work either.

　　But when he noticed us dragging around the neighborhood, not eating,taking little interest in our normal pursuits, Atticus discoveredhow deeply frightened we were. He tempted Jem with a new footballmagazine one night; when he saw Jem flip the pages and toss itaside, he said, "What's bothering you, son?"Jem came to the point: "Mr. Ewell.""What has happened?""Nothing's happened. We're scared for you, and we think you oughtado something about him."Atticus smiled wryly. "Do what? Put him under a peace bond?""When a man says he's gonna get you, looks like he means it.""He meant it when he said it," said Atticus. "Jem, see if you canstand in Bob Ewell's shoes a minute. I destroyed his last shred ofcredibility at that trial, if he had any to begin with. The man had tohave some kind of comeback, his kind always does. So if spitting in myface and threatening me saved Mayella Ewell one extra beating,that's something I'll gladly take. He had to take it out on somebodyand I'd rather it be me than that houseful of children out there.

　　You understand?"Jem nodded.

　　Aunt Alexandra entered the room as Atticus was saying, "We don'thave anything to fear from Bob Ewell, he got it all out of hissystem that morning.""I wouldn't be so sure of that, Atticus," she said. "His kind'd doanything to pay off a grudge. You know how those people are.""What on earth could Ewell do to me, sister?""Something furtive," Aunt Alexandra said. "You may count on that.""Nobody has much chance to be furtive in Maycomb," Atticus answered.

　　After that, we were not afraid. Summer was melting away, and we madethe most of it. Atticus assured us that nothing would happen to TomRobinson until the higher court reviewed his case, and that Tom hada good chance of going free, or at least of having a new trial. He wasat Enfield Prison Farm, seventy miles away in Chester County. Iasked Atticus if Tom's wife and children were allowed to visit him,but Atticus said no.

　　"If he loses his appeal," I asked one evening, "what'll happen tohim?""He'll go to the chair," said Atticus, "unless the Governor commuteshis sentence. Not time to worry yet, Scout. We've got a good chance."Jem was sprawled on the sofa reading Popular Mechanics. Helooked up. "It ain't right. He didn't kill anybody even if he wasguilty. He didn't take anybody's life.""You know rape's a capital offense in Alabama," said Atticus.

　　"Yessir, but the jury didn't have to give him death- if theywanted to they could've gave him twenty years.""Given," said Atticus. "Tom Robinson's a colored man, Jem. No juryin this part of the world's going to say, 'We think you're guilty, butnot very,' on a charge like that. It was either a straight acquittalor nothing."Jem was shaking his head. "I know it's not right, but I can't figureout what's wrong- maybe rape shouldn't be a capital offense…"Atticus dropped his newspaper beside his chair. He said he didn'thave any quarrel with the rape statute, none what ever, but he didhave deep misgivings when the state asked for and the jury gave adeath penalty on purely circumstantial evidence. He glanced at me, sawI was listening, and made it easier. "-I mean, before a man issentenced to death for murder, say, there should be one or twoeye-witnesses. Some one should be able to say, 'Yes, I was there andsaw him pull the trigger.'""But lots of folks have been hung- hanged- on circumstantialevidence," said Jem.

　　"I know, and lots of 'em probably deserved it, too- but in theabsence of eye-witnesses there's always a doubt, some times only theshadow of a doubt. The law says 'reasonable doubt,' but I think adefendant's entitled to the shadow of a doubt. There's always thepossibility, no matter how improbable, that he's innocent.""Then it all goes back to the jury, then. We oughta do away withjuries." Jem was adamant.

　　Atticus tried hard not to smile but couldn't help it. "You're ratherhard on us, son. I think maybe there might be a better way. Change thelaw. Change it so that only judges have the power of fixing thepenalty in capital cases.""Then go up to Montgomery and change the law.""You'd be surprised how hard that'd be. I won't live to see thelaw changed, and if you live to see it you'll be an old man."This was not good enough for Jem. "No sir, they oughta do awaywith juries. He wasn't guilty in the first place and they said hewas.""If you had been on that jury, son, and eleven other boys likeyou, Tom would be a free man," said Atticus. "So far nothing in yourlife has interfered with your reasoning process. Those are twelvereasonable men in everyday life, Tom's jury, but you saw somethingcome between them and reason. You saw the same thing that night infront of the jail. When that crew went away, they didn't go asreasonable men, they went because we were there. There's somethingin our world that makes men lose their heads- they couldn't be fair ifthey tried. In our courts, when it's a white man's word against ablack man's, the white man always wins. They're ugly, but those arethe facts of life.""Doesn't make it right," said Jem stolidly. He beat his fistsoftly on his knee. "You just can't convict a man on evidence likethat- you can't.""You couldn't, but they could and did. The older you grow the moreof it you'll see. The one place where a man ought to get a square dealis in a courtroom, be he any color of the rainbow, but people have away of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. As you growolder, you'll see white men cheat black men every day of your life,but let me tell you something and don't you forget it- whenever awhite man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich heis, or how fine a family he comes from, that white man is trash."Atticus was speaking so quietly his last word crashed on our ears. Ilooked up, and his face was vehement. "There's nothing moresickening to me than a low-grade white man who'll take advantage ofa Negro's ignorance. Don't fool yourselves- it's all adding up and oneof these days we're going to pay the bill for it. I hope it's not inyou children's time."Jem was scratching his head. Suddenly his eyes widened. "Atticus,"he said, "why don't people like us and Miss Maudie ever sit on juries?

　　You never see anybody from Maycomb on a jury- they all come from outin the woods."Atticus leaned back in his rocking-chair. For some reason helooked pleased with Jem. "I was wondering when that'd occur to you,"he said. "There are lots of reasons. For one thing, Miss Maudiecan't serve on a jury because she's a woman-""You mean women in Alabama can't-?" I was indignant.

　　"I do. I guess it's to protect our frail ladies from sordid caseslike Tom's. Besides," Atticus grinned, "I doubt if we'd ever get acomplete case tried- the ladies'd be interrupting to ask questions."Jem and I laughed. Miss Maudie on a jury would be impressive. Ithought of old Mrs. Dubose in her wheelchair- "Stop that rapping, JohnTaylor, I want to ask this man something." Perhaps our forefatherswere wise.

　　Atticus was saying, "With people like us- that's our share of thebill. We generally get the juries we deserve. Our stout Maycombcitizens aren't interested, in the first place. In the second place,they're afraid. Then, they're-""Afraid, why?" asked Jem.

　　"Well, what if- say, Mr. Link Deas had to decide the amount ofdamages to award, say, Miss Maudie, when Miss Rachel ran over her witha car. Link wouldn't like the thought of losing either lady's businessat his store, would he? So he tells Judge Taylor that he can't serveon the jury because he doesn't have anybody to keep store for himwhile he's gone. So Judge Taylor excuses him. Sometimes he excuses himwrathfully.""What'd make him think either one of 'em'd stop trading with him?" Iasked.

　　Jem said, "Miss Rachel would, Miss Maudie wouldn't. But a jury'svote's secret, Atticus."Our father chuckled. "You've many more miles to go, son. A jury'svote's supposed to be secret. Serving on a jury forces a man to makeup his mind and declare himself about something. Men don't like todo that. Sometimes it's unpleasant.""Tom's jury sho' made up its mind in a hurry," Jem muttered.

　　Atticus's fingers went to his watchpocket. "No it didn't," hesaid, more to himself than to us. "That was the one thing that made methink, well, this may be the shadow of a beginning. That jury took afew hours. An inevitable verdict, maybe, but usually it takes 'em justa few minutes. This time-" he broke off and looked at us. "You mightlike to know that there was one fellow who took considerable wearingdown- in the beginning he was rarin' for an outright acquittal.""Who?" Jem was astonished.

　　Atticus's eyes twinkled. "It's not for me to say, but I'll tellyou this much. He was one of your Old Sarum friends…""One of the Cunninghams?" Jem yelped. "One of- I didn't recognizeany of 'em… you're jokin'." He looked at Atticus from the corners ofhis eyes.

　　"One of their connections. On a hunch, I didn't strike him. Juston a hunch. Could've, but I didn't.""Golly Moses," Jem said reverently. "One minute they're tryin' tokill him and the next they're tryin' to turn him loose… I'll neverunderstand those folks as long as I live."Atticus said you just had to know 'em. He said the Cunninghamshadn't taken anything from or off of anybody since they migrated tothe New World. He said the other thing about them was, once you earnedtheir respect they were for you tooth and nail. Atticus said he hada feeling, nothing more than a suspicion, that they left the jail thatnight with considerable respect for the Finches. Then too, he said, ittook a thunderbolt plus another Cunningham to make one of themchange his mind. "If we'd had two of that crowd, we'd've had a hungjury."Jem said slowly, "You mean you actually put on the jury a man whowanted to kill you the night before? How could you take such a risk,Atticus, how could you?""When you analyze it, there was little risk. There's no differencebetween one man who's going to convict and another man who's goingto convict, is there? There's a faint difference between a man who'sgoing to convict and a man who's a little disturbed in his mind, isn'tthere? He was the only uncertainty on the whole list.""What kin was that man to Mr. Walter Cunningham?" I asked.

　　Atticus rose, stretched and yawned. It was not even our bedtime, butwe knew he wanted a chance to read his newspaper. He picked it up,folded it, and tapped my head. "Let's see now," he droned tohimself. "I've got it. Double first cousin.""How can that be?""Two sisters married two brothers. That's all I'll tell you- youfigure it out."I tortured myself and decided that if I married Jem and Dill had asister whom he married our children would be double first cousins.

　　"Gee minetti, Jem," I said, when Atticus had gone, "they're funnyfolks. 'd you hear that, Aunty?"Aunt Alexandra was hooking a rug and not watching us, but she waslistening. She sat in her chair with her workbasket beside it, her rugspread across her lap. Why ladies hooked woolen rugs on boiling nightsnever became clear to me.

　　"I heard it," she said.

　　I remembered the distant disastrous occasion when I rushed toyoung Walter Cunningham's defense. Now I was glad I'd done it. "Soon'sschool starts I'm gonna ask Walter home to dinner," I planned,having forgotten my private resolve to beat him up the next time I sawhim. "He can stay over sometimes after school, too. Atticus coulddrive him back to Old Sarum. Maybe he could spend the night with ussometime, okay, Jem?""We'll see about that," Aunt Alexandra said, a declaration that withher was always a threat, never a promise. Surprised, I turned toher. "Why not, Aunty? They're good folks."She looked at me over her sewing glasses. "Jean Louise, there isno doubt in my mind that they're good folks. But they're not ourkind of folks."Jem says, "She means they're yappy, Scout.""What's a yap?""Aw, tacky. They like fiddlin' and things like that.""Well I do too-""Don't be silly, Jean Louise," said Aunt Alexandra. "The thing is,you can scrub Walter Cunningham till he shines, you can put him inshoes and a new suit, but he'll never be like Jem. Besides, there'sa drinking streak in that family a mile wide. Finch women aren'tinterested in that sort of people.""Aun-ty," said Jem, "she ain't nine yet.""She may as well learn it now."Aunt Alexandra had spoken. I was reminded vividly of the last timeshe had put her foot down. I never knew why. It was when I wasabsorbed with plans to visit Calpurnia's house- I was curious,interested; I wanted to be her "company," to see how she lived, whoher friends were. I might as well have wanted to see the other side ofthe moon. This time the tactics were different, but Aunt Alexandra'saim was the same. Perhaps this was why she had come to live with us-to help us choose our friends. I would hold her off as long as Icould: "If they're good folks, then why can't I be nice to Walter?""I didn't say not to be nice to him. You should be friendly andpolite to him, you should be gracious to everybody, dear. But youdon't have to invite him home.""What if he was kin to us, Aunty?""The fact is that he is not kin to us, but if he were, my answerwould be the same.""Aunty," Jem spoke up, "Atticus says you can choose your friends butyou sho' can't choose your family, an' they're still kin to you nomatter whether you acknowledge 'em or not, and it makes you look rightsilly when you don't.""That's your father all over again," said Aunt Alexandra, "and Istill say that Jean Louise will not invite Walter Cunningham to thishouse. If he were her double first cousin once removed he wouldstill not be received in this house unless he comes to see Atticuson business. Now that is that."She had said Indeed Not, but this time she would give her reasons:

　　"But I want to play with Walter, Aunty, why can't I?"She took off her glasses and stared at me. "I'll tell you why,"she said. "Because- he- is- trash, that's why you can't play with him.

　　I'll not have you around him, picking up his habits and learningLord-knows-what. You're enough of a problem to your father as it is."I don't know what I would have done, but Jem stopped me. He caughtme by the shoulders, put his arm around me, and led me sobbing in furyto his bedroom. Atticus heard us and poked his head around the door.

　　"'s all right, sir," Jem said gruffly, "'s not anything." Atticus wentaway.

　　"Have a chew, Scout." Jem dug into his pocket and extracted aTootsie Roll. It took a few minutes to work the candy into acomfortable wad inside my jaw.

　　Jem was rearranging the objects on his dresser. His hair stuck upbehind and down in front, and I wondered if it would ever look likea man's- maybe if he shaved it off and started over, his hair wouldgrow back neatly in place. His eyebrows were becoming heavier, and Inoticed a new slimness about his body. He was growing taller.

　　When he looked around, he must have thought I would start cryingagain, for he said, "Show you something if you won't tell anybody."I said what. He unbuttoned his shirt, grinning shyly.

　　"Well what?""Well can't you see it?""Well no.""Well it's hair.""Where?""There. Right there."He had been a comfort to me, so I said it looked lovely, but Ididn't see anything. "It's real nice, Jem.""Under my arms, too," he said. "Goin' out for football next year.

　　Scout, don't let Aunty aggravate you."It seemed only yesterday that he was telling me not to aggravateAunty.

　　"You know she's not used to girls," said Jem, "leastways, notgirls like you. She's trying to make you a lady. Can't you take upsewin' or somethin'?""Hell no. She doesn't like me, that's all there is to it, and Idon't care. It was her callin' Walter Cunningham trash that got megoin', Jem, not what she said about being a problem to Atticus. We gotthat all straight one time, I asked him if I was a problem and he saidnot much of one, at most one that he could always figure out, andnot to worry my head a second about botherin' him. Naw, it was Walter-that boy's not trash, Jem. He ain't like the Ewells."Jem kicked off his shoes and swung his feet to the bed. He proppedhimself against a pillow and switched on the reading light. "Youknow something, Scout? I've got it all figured out, now. I'vethought about it a lot lately and I've got it figured out. There'sfour kinds of folks in the world. There's the ordinary kind like usand the neighbors, there's the kind like the Cunninghams out in thewoods, the kind like the Ewells down at the dump, and the Negroes.""What about the Chinese, and the Cajuns down yonder in BaldwinCounty?""I mean in Maycomb County. The thing about it is, our kind offolks don't like the Cunninghams, the Cunninghams don't like theEwells, and the Ewells hate and despise the colored folks."I told Jem if that was so, then why didn't Tom's jury, made up offolks like the Cunninghams, acquit Tom to spite the Ewells?"Jem waved my question away as being infantile.

　　"You know," he said, "I've seen Atticus pat his foot when there'sfiddlin' on the radio, and he loves pot liquor better'n any man I eversaw-""Then that makes us like the Cunninghams," I said. "I can't seewhy Aunty-""No, lemme finish- it does, but we're still different somehow.

　　Atticus said one time the reason Aunty's so hipped on the family isbecause all we've got's background and not a dime to our names.""Well Jem, I don't know- Atticus told me one time that most ofthis Old Family stuff's foolishness because everybody's family'sjust as old as everybody else's. I said did that include the coloredfolks and Englishmen and he said yes.""Background doesn't mean Old Family," said Jem. "I think it's howlong your family's been readin' and writin'. Scout, I've studiedthis real hard and that's the only reason I can think of. Somewherealong when the Finches were in Egypt one of 'em must have learned ahieroglyphic or two and he taught his boy." Jem laughed. "ImagineAunty being proud her great-grandaddy could read an' write- ladiespick funny things to be proud of.""Well I'm glad he could, or who'da taught Atticus and them, and ifAtticus couldn't read, you and me'd be in a fix. I don't thinkthat's what background is, Jem.""Well then, how do you explain why the Cunninghams are different?

　　Mr. Walter can hardly sign his name, I've seen him. We've just beenreadin' and writin' longer'n they have.""No, everybody's gotta learn, nobody's born knowin'. That Walter'sas smart as he can be, he just gets held back sometimes because he hasto stay out and help his daddy. Nothin's wrong with him. Naw, Jem, Ithink there's just one kind of folks. Folks."Jem turned around and punched his pillow. When he settled back hisface was cloudy. He was going into one of his declines, and I grewwary. His brows came together; his mouth became a thin line. He wassilent for a while.

　　"That's what I thought, too," he said at last, "when I was your age.

　　If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along witheach other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way todespise each other? Scout, I think I'm beginning to understandsomething. I think I'm beginning to understand why Boo Radley's stayedshut up in the house all this time… it's because he wants tostay inside."24Calpurnia wore her stiffest starched apron. She carried a tray ofcharlotte. She backed up to the swinging door and pressed gently. Iadmired the ease and grace with which she handled heavy loads ofdainty things. So did Aunt Alexandra, I guess, because she had letCalpurnia serve today.

　　August was on the brink of September. Dill would be leaving forMeridian tomorrow; today he was off with Jem at Barker's Eddy. Jem haddiscovered with angry amazement that nobody had ever bothered to teachDill how to swim, a skill Jem considered necessary as walking. Theyhad spent two afternoons at the creek, they said they were going innaked and I couldn't come, so I divided the lonely hours betweenCalpurnia and Miss Maudie.

　　Today Aunt Alexandra and her missionary circle were fighting thegood fight all over the house. From the kitchen, I heard Mrs. GraceMerriweather giving a report in the livingroom on the squalid lives ofthe Mrunas, it sounded like to me. They put the women out in huts whentheir time came, whatever that was; they had no sense of family- Iknew that'd distress Aunty- they subjected children to terribleordeals when they were thirteen; they were crawling with yaws andearworms, they chewed up and spat out the bark of a tree into acommunal pot and then got drunk on it.

　　Immediately thereafter, the ladies adjourned for refreshments.

　　I didn't know whether to go into the diningroom or stay out. AuntAlexandra told me to join them for refreshments; it was notnecessary that I attend the business part of the meeting, she saidit'd bore me. I was wearing my pink Sunday dress, shoes, and apetticoat, and reflected that if I spilled anything Calpurnia wouldhave to wash my dress again for tomorrow. This had been a busy day forher. I decided to stay out.

　　"Can I help you, Cal?" I asked, wishing to be of some service.

　　Calpurnia paused in the doorway. "You be still as a mouse in thatcorner," she said, "an' you can help me load up the trays when Icome back."The gentle hum of ladies' voices grew louder as she opened the door:

　　"Why, Alexandra, I never saw such charlotte… just lovely… Inever can get my crust like this, never can… who'd've thought oflittle dewberry tarts… Calpurnia?… who'da thought it… anybodytell you that the preacher's wife's… nooo, well she is, and thatother one not walkin' yet…"They became quiet, and I knew they had all been served. Calpurniareturned and put my mother's heavy silver pitcher on a tray. "Thiscoffee pitcher's a curiosity," she murmured, "they don't make 'emthese days.""Can I carry it in?""If you be careful and don't drop it. Set it down at the end ofthe table by Miss Alexandra. Down there by the cups'n things. She'sgonna pour."I tried pressing my behind against the door as Calpurnia had done,but the door didn't budge. Grinning, she held it open for me. "Carefulnow, it's heavy. Don't look at it and you won't spill it."My journey was successful: Aunt Alexandra smiled brilliantly.

　　"Stay with us, Jean Louise," she said. This was a part of her campaignto teach me to be a lady.

　　It was customary for every circle hostess to invite her neighbors infor refreshments, be they Baptists or Presbyterians, which accountedfor the presence of Miss Rachel （sober as a judge）， Miss Maudie andMiss Stephanie Crawford. Rather nervous, I took a seat beside MissMaudie and wondered why ladies put on their hats to go across thestreet. Ladies in bunches always filled me with vague apprehension anda firm desire to be elsewhere, but this feeling was what AuntAlexandra called being "spoiled."The ladies were cool in fragile pastel prints: most of them wereheavily powdered but unrouged; the only lipstick in the room wasTangee Natural. Cutex Natural sparkled on their fingernails, butsome of the younger ladies wore Rose. They smelled heavenly. I satquietly, having conquered my hands by tightly gripping the arms of thechair, and waited for someone to speak to me.

　　Miss Maudie's gold bridgework twinkled. "You're mighty dressed up,Miss Jean Louise," she said, "Where are your britches today?""Under my dress."I hadn't meant to be funny, but the ladies laughed. My cheeks grewhot as I realized my mistake, but Miss Maudie looked gravely down atme. She never laughed at me unless I meant to be funny.

　　In the sudden silence that followed, Miss Stephanie Crawfordcalled from across the room, "Whatcha going to be when you grow up,Jean Louise? A lawyer?""Nome, I hadn't thought about it…" I answered, grateful thatMiss Stephanie was kind enough to change the subject. Hurriedly Ibegan choosing my vocation. Nurse? Aviator? "Well…""Why shoot, I thought you wanted to be a lawyer, you've alreadycommenced going to court."The ladies laughed again. "That Stephanie's a card," somebodysaid. Miss Stephanie was encouraged to pursue the subject: "Don'tyou want to grow up to be a lawyer?"Miss Maudie's hand touched mine and I answered mildly enough, "Nome,just a lady."Miss Stephanie eyed me suspiciously, decided that I meant noimpertinence, and contented herself with, "Well, you won't get veryfar until you start wearing dresses more often."Miss Maudie's hand closed tightly on mine, and I said nothing. Itswarmth was enough.

　　Mrs. Grace Merriweather sat on my left, and I felt it would bepolite to talk to her. Mr. Merriweather, a faithful Methodist underduress, apparently saw nothing personal in singing, "Amazing Grace,how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…" It was thegeneral opinion of Maycomb, however, that Mrs. Merriweather hadsobered him up and made a reasonably useful citizen of him. Forcertainly Mrs. Merriweather was the most devout lady in Maycomb. Isearched for a topic of interest to her. "What did you all studythis afternoon?" I asked.

　　"Oh child, those poor Mrunas," she said, and was off. Few otherquestions would be necessary.

　　Mrs. Merriweather's large brown eyes always filled with tears whenshe considered the oppressed. "Living in that jungle with nobody butJ. Grimes Everett," she said. "Not a white person'll go near 'em butthat saintly J. Grimes Everett."Mrs. Merriweather played her voice like an organ; every word shesaid received its full measure: "The poverty… the darkness… theimmorality- nobody but J. Grimes Everett knows. You know, when thechurch gave me that trip to the camp grounds J. Grimes Everett said tome-""Was he there, ma'am? I thought-""Home on leave. J. Grimes Everett said to me, he said, 'Mrs.

　　Merriweather, you have no conception, no con cep tion of what we arefighting over there.' That's what he said to me.""Yes ma'am.""I said to him, 'Mr. Everett,' I said, 'the ladies of the MaycombAlabama Methodist Episcopal Church South are behind you one hundredpercent.' That's what I said to him. And you know, right then andthere I made a pledge in my heart. I said to myself, when I go homeI'm going to give a course on the Mrunas and bring J. Grimes Everett'smessage to Maycomb and that's just what I'm doing.""Yes ma'am."When Mrs. Merriweather shook her head, her black curls jiggled.

　　"Jean Louise," she said, "you are a fortunate girl. You live in aChristian home with Christian folks in a Christian town. Out therein J. Grimes Everett's land there's nothing but sin and squalor.""Yes ma'am.""Sin and squalor- what was that, Gertrude?" Mrs. Merriweather turnedon her chimes for the lady sitting beside her. "Oh that. Well, Ialways say forgive and forget, forgive and forget. Thing that churchought to do is help her lead a Christian life for those childrenfrom here on out. Some of the men ought to go out there and tellthat preacher to encourage her.""Excuse me, Mrs. Merriweather," I interrupted, "are you alltalking about Mayella Ewell?""May-? No, child. That darky's wife. Tom's wife, Tom-""Robinson, ma'am."Mrs. Merriweather turned back to her neighbor. "There's one thingI truly believe, Gertrude," she continued, "but some people just don'tsee it my way. If we just let them know we forgive 'em, that we'veforgotten it, then this whole thing'll blow over.""Ah- Mrs. Merriweather," I interrupted once more, "what'll blowover?"Again, she turned to me. Mrs. Merriweather was one of thosechildless adults who find it necessary to assume a different tone ofvoice when speaking to children. "Nothing, Jean Louise," she said,in stately largo, "the cooks and field hands are just dissatisfied,but they're settling down now- they grumbled all next day after thattrial."Mrs. Merriweather faced Mrs. Farrow: "Gertrude, I tell you there'snothing more distracting than a sulky darky. Their mouths go down tohere. Just ruins your day to have one of 'em in the kitchen. Youknow what I said to my Sophy, Gertrude? I said, 'Sophy,' I said,'you simply are not being a Christian today. Jesus Christ never wentaround grumbling and complaining,' and you know, it did her good.

　　She took her eyes off that floor and said, 'Nome, Miz Merriweather,Jesus never went around grumblin'.' I tell you, Gertrude, you neverought to let an opportunity go by to witness for the Lord."I was reminded of the ancient little organ in the chapel atFinch's Landing. When I was very small, and if I had been very goodduring the day, Atticus would let me pump its bellows while hepicked out a tune with one finger. The last note would linger aslong as there was air to sustain it. Mrs. Merriweather had run outof air, I judged, and was replenishing her supply while Mrs. Farrowcomposed herself to speak.

　　Mrs. Farrow was a splendidly built woman with pale eyes and narrowfeet. She had a fresh permanent wave, and her hair was a mass of tightgray ringlets. She was the second most devout lady in Maycomb. She hada curious habit of prefacing everything she said with a softsibilant sound.

　　"S-s-s Grace," she said, "it's just like I was telling BrotherHutson the other day. 'S-s-s Brother Hutson,' I said, 'looks likewe're fighting a losing battle, a losing battle.' I said, 'S-s-s itdoesn't matter to 'em one bit. We can educate 'em till we're blue inthe face, we can try till we drop to make Christians out of 'em, butthere's no lady safe in her bed these nights.' He said to me, 'Mrs.

　　Farrow, I don't know what we're coming to down here.' S-s-s I told himthat was certainly a fact."Mrs. Merriweather nodded wisely. Her voice soared over the clinkof coffee cups and the soft bovine sounds of the ladies munching theirdainties. "Gertrude," she said, "I tell you there are some good butmisguided people in this town. Good, but misguided. Folks in this townwho think they're doing right, I mean. Now far be it from me to saywho, but some of 'em in this town thought they were doing the rightthing a while back, but all they did was stir 'em up. That's allthey did. Might've looked like the right thing to do at the time,I'm sure I don't know, I'm not read in that field, but sulky…dissatisfied… I tell you if my Sophy'd kept it up another day I'dhave let her go. It's never entered that wool of hers that the onlyreason I keep her is because this depression's on and she needs herdollar and a quarter every week she can get it.""His food doesn't stick going down, does it?"Miss Maudie said it. Two tight lines had appeared at the cornersof her mouth. She had been sitting silently beside me, her coffeecup balanced on one knee. I had lost the thread of conversation longago, when they quit talking about Tom Robinson's wife, and hadcontented myself with thinking of Finch's Landing and the river.

　　Aunt Alexandra had got it backwards: the business part of themeeting was blood-curdling, the social hour was dreary.

　　"Maudie, I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Mrs.

　　Merriweather.

　　"I'm sure you do," Miss Maudie said shortly.

　　She said no more. When Miss Maudie was angry her brevity was icy.

　　Something had made her deeply angry, and her gray eyes were as cold asher voice. Mrs. Merriweather reddened, glanced at me, and looked away.

　　I could not see Mrs. Farrow.

　　Aunt Alexandra got up from the table and swiftly passed morerefreshments, neatly engaging Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Gates inbrisk conversation. When she had them well on the road with Mrs.

　　Perkins, Aunt Alexandra stepped back. She gave Miss Maudie a look ofpure gratitude, and I wondered at the world of women. Miss Maudieand Aunt Alexandra had never been especially close, and here was Auntysilently thanking her for something. For what, I knew not. I wascontent to learn that Aunt Alexandra could be pierced sufficientlyto feel gratitude for help given. There was no doubt about it, Imust soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladiesrocked slowly, fanned gently, and drank cool water.

　　But I was more at home in my father's world. People like Mr. HeckTate did not trap you with innocent questions to make fun of you; evenJem was not highly critical unless you said something stupid. Ladiesseemed to live in faint horror of men, seemed unwilling to approvewholeheartedly of them. But I liked them. There was something aboutthem, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and chewed;no matter how undelectable they were, there was something about themthat I instinctively liked… they weren't-"Hypocrites, Mrs. Perkins, born hypocrites," Mrs. Merriweather wassaying. "At least we don't have that sin on our shoulders down here.

　　People up there set 'em free, but you don't see 'em settin' at thetable with 'em. At least we don't have the deceit to say to 'em yesyou're as good as we are but stay away from us. Down here we justsay you live your way and we'll live ours. I think that woman, thatMrs. Roosevelt's lost her mind- just plain lost her mind coming downto Birmingham and tryin' to sit with 'em. If I was the Mayor ofBirmingham I'd-"Well, neither of us was the Mayor of Birmingham, but I wished Iwas the Governor of Alabama for one day: I'd let Tom Robinson go soquick the Missionary Society wouldn't have time to catch its breath.

　　Calpurnia was telling Miss Rachel's cook the other day how bad Tom wastaking things and she didn't stop talking when I came into thekitchen. She said there wasn't a thing Atticus could do to makebeing shut up easier for him, that the last thing he said to Atticusbefore they took him down to the prison camp was, "Good-bye, Mr.

　　Finch, there ain't nothin' you can do now, so there ain't no usetryin'." Calpurnia said Atticus told her that the day they took Tom toprison he just gave up hope. She said Atticus tried to explainthings to him, and that he must do his best not to lose hope becauseAtticus was doing his best to get him free. Miss Rachel's cook askedCalpurnia why didn't Atticus just say yes, you'll go free, and leaveit at that- seemed like that'd be a big comfort to Tom. Calpurniasaid, "Because you ain't familiar with the law. First thing youlearn when you're in a lawin' family is that there ain't anydefinite answers to anything. Mr. Finch couldn't say somethin's sowhen he doesn't know for sure it's so."The front door slammed and I heard Atticus's footsteps in thehall. Automatically I wondered what time it was. Not nearly time forhim to be home, and on Missionary Society days he usually stayeddowntown until black dark.

　　He stopped in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and his face waswhite.

　　"Excuse me, ladies," he said. "Go right ahead with your meeting,don't let me disturb you. Alexandra, could you come to the kitchen aminute? I want to borrow Calpurnia for a while."He didn't go through the diningroom, but went down the backhallway and entered the kitchen from the rear door. Aunt Alexandra andI met him. The diningroom door opened again and Miss Maudie joined us.

　　Calpurnia had half risen from her chair.

　　"Cal," Atticus said, "I want you to go with me out to HelenRobinson's house-""What's the matter?" Aunt Alexandra asked, alarmed by the look on myfather's face.

　　"Tom's dead."Aunt Alexandra put her hands to her mouth.

　　"They shot him," said Atticus. "He was running. It was duringtheir exercise period. They said he just broke into a blind ravingcharge at the fence and started climbing over. Right in front ofthem-""Didn't they try to stop him? Didn't they give him any warning?"Aunt Alexandra's voice shook.

　　"Oh yes, the guards called to him to stop. They fired a few shots inthe air, then to kill. They got him just as he went over the fence.

　　They said if he'd had two good arms he'd have made it, he was movingthat fast. Seventeen bullet holes in him. They didn't have to shoothim that much. Cal, I want you to come out with me and help me tellHelen.""Yes sir," she murmured, fumbling at her apron. Miss Maudie wentto Calpurnia and untied it.

　　"This is the last straw, Atticus," Aunt Alexandra said.

　　"Depends on how you look at it," he said. "What was one Negro,more or less, among two hundred of 'em? He wasn't Tom to them, hewas an escaping prisoner."Atticus leaned against the refrigerator, pushed up his glasses,and rubbed his eyes. "We had such a good chance," he said. "I told himwhat I thought, but I couldn't in truth say that we had more than agood chance. I guess Tom was tired of white men's chances andpreferred to take his own. Ready, Cal?""Yessir, Mr. Finch.""Then let's go."Aunt Alexandra sat down in Calpurnia's chair and put her hands toher face. She sat quite still; she was so quiet I wondered if shewould faint. I heard Miss Maudie breathing as if she had justclimbed the steps, and in the diningroom the ladies chattered happily.

　　I thought Aunt Alexandra was crying, but when she took her handsaway from her face, she was not. She looked weary. She spoke, andher voice was flat.

　　"I can't say I approve of everything he does, Maudie, but he's mybrother, and I just want to know when this will ever end." Her voicerose: "It tears him to pieces. He doesn't show it much, but it tearshim to pieces. I've seen him when- what else do they want from him,Maudie, what else?""What does who want, Alexandra?" Miss Maudie asked.

　　"I mean this town. They're perfectly willing to let him do whatthey're too afraid to do themselves- it might lose 'em a nickel.

　　They're perfectly willing to let him wreck his health doing whatthey're afraid to do, they're-""Be quiet, they'll hear you," said Miss Maudie. "Have you everthought of it this way, Alexandra? Whether Maycomb knows it or not,we're paying the highest tribute we can pay a man. We trust him todo right. It's that simple.""Who?" Aunt Alexandra never knew she was echoing her twelve-year-oldnephew.

　　"The handful of people in this town who say that fair play is notmarked White Only; the handful of people who say a fair trial is foreverybody, not just us; the handful of people with enough humilityto think, when they look at a Negro, there but for the Lord's kindnessam l." Miss Maudie's old crispness was returning: "The handful ofpeople in this town with background, that's who they are."Had I been attentive, I would have had another scrap to add to Jem'sdefinition of background, but I found myself shaking and couldn'tstop. I had seen Enfield Prison Farm, and Atticus had pointed outthe exercise yard to me. It was the size of a football field.

　　"Stop that shaking," commanded Miss Maudie, and I stopped. "Getup, Alexandra, we've left 'em long enough."Aunt Alexandra rose and smoothed the various whalebone ridgesalong her hips. She took her handkerchief from her belt and wipedher nose. She patted her hair and said, "Do I show it?""Not a sign," said Miss Maudie. "Are you together again, JeanLouise?""Yes ma'am.""Then let's join the ladies," she said grimly.

　　Their voices swelled when Miss Maudie opened the door to thediningroom. Aunt Alexandra was ahead of me, and I saw her head go upas she went through the door.

　　"Oh, Mrs. Perkins," she said, "you need some more coffee. Let me getit.""Calpurnia's on an errand for a few minutes, Grace," said MissMaudie. "Let me pass you some more of those dewberry tarts. 'dyou hearwhat that cousin of mine did the other day, the one who likes to gofishing?…"And so they went, down the row of laughing women, around thediningroom, refilling coffee cups, dishing out goodies as though theironly regret was the temporary domestic disaster of losing Calpurnia.

　　The gentle hum began again. "Yes sir, Mrs. Perkins, that J. GrimesEverett is a martyred saint, he… needed to get married so theyran… to the beauty parlor every Saturday afternoon… soon as thesun goes down. He goes to bed with the… chickens, a crate full ofsick chickens, Fred says that's what started it all. Fred says…"Aunt Alexandra looked across the room at me and smiled. She lookedat a tray of cookies on the table and nodded at them. I carefullypicked up the tray and watched myself walk to Mrs. Merriweather.

　　With my best company manners, I asked her if she would have some.

　　After all, if Aunty could be a lady at a time like this, so could I.

　　25"Don't do that, Scout. Set him out on the back steps.""Jem, are you crazy?…""I said set him out on the back steps."Sighing, I scooped up the small creature, placed him on the bottomstep and went back to my cot. September had come, but not a trace ofcool weather with it, and we were still sleeping on the back screenporch. Lightning bugs were still about, the night crawlers andflying insects that beat against the screen the summer long had notgone wherever they go when autumn comes.

　　A roly-poly had found his way inside the house; I reasoned thatthe tiny varmint had crawled up the steps and under the door. I wasputting my book on the floor beside my cot when I saw him. Thecreatures are no more than an inch long, and when you touch themthey 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 fewinches 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 himwhen Jem spoke.

　　Jem was scowling. It was probably a part of the stage he was goingthrough, and I wished he would hurry up and get through it. He wascertainly never cruel to animals, but I had never known his charity toembrace the insect world.

　　"Why couldn't I mash him?" I asked.

　　"Because they don't bother you," Jem answered in the darkness. Hehad turned out his reading light.

　　"Reckon you're at the stage now where you don't kill flies andmosquitoes now, I reckon," I said. "Lemme know when you change yourmind. Tell you one thing, though, I ain't gonna sit around and notscratch 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 whilewaiting I thought of Dill. He had left us the first of the monthwith firm assurances that he would return the minute school was out-he guessed his folks had got the general idea that he liked to spendhis summers in Maycomb. Miss Rachel took us with them in the taxi toMaycomb Junction, and Dill waved to us from the train window untilhe was out of sight. He was not out of mind: I missed him. The lasttwo days of his time with us, Jem had taught him to swim-Taught him to swim. I was wide awake, remembering what Dill had toldme.

　　Barker's Eddy is at the end of a dirt road off the Meridianhighway about a mile from town. It is easy to catch a ride down thehighway on a cotton wagon or from a passing motorist, and the shortwalk to the creek is easy, but the prospect of walking all the wayback home at dusk, when the traffic is light, is tiresome, andswimmers are careful not to stay too late.

　　According to Dill, he and Jem had just come to the highway when theysaw Atticus driving toward them. He looked like he had not seenthem, so they both waved. Atticus finally slowed down; when theycaught up with him he said, "You'd better catch a ride back. I won'tbe going home for a while." Calpurnia was in the back seat.

　　Jem protested, then pleaded, and Atticus said, "All right, you cancome with us if you stay in the car."On the way to Tom Robinson's, Atticus told them what had happened.

　　They turned off the highway, rode slowly by the dump and past theEwell residence, down the narrow lane to the Negro cabins. Dill said acrowd of black children were playing marbles in Tom's front yard.

　　Atticus parked the car and got out. Calpurnia followed him through thefront gate.

　　Dill heard him ask one of the children, "Where's your mother,Sam?" and heard Sam say, "She down at Sis Stevens's, Mr. Finch. Wantme run fetch her?"Dill said Atticus looked uncertain, then he said yes, and Samscampered off. "Go on with your game, boys," Atticus said to thechildren.

　　A little girl came to the cabin door and stood looking at Atticus.

　　Dill said her hair was a wad of tiny stiff pigtails, each ending ina bright bow. She grinned from ear to ear and walked toward ourfather, but she was too small to navigate the steps. Dill said Atticuswent to her, took off his hat, and offered her his finger. She grabbedit and he eased her down the steps. Then he gave her to Calpurnia.

　　Sam was trotting behind his mother when they came up. Dill saidHelen said, "'evenin', Mr. Finch, won't you have a seat?" But shedidn't say any more. Neither did Atticus.

　　"Scout," said Dill, "she just fell down in the dirt. Just felldown in the dirt, like a giant with a big foot just came along andstepped on her. Just ump-" Dill's fat foot hit the ground. "Like you'dstep on an ant."Dill said Calpurnia and Atticus lifted Helen to her feet and halfcarried, half walked her to the cabin. They stayed inside a long time,and Atticus came out alone. When they drove back by the dump, someof the Ewells hollered at them, but Dill didn't catch what they said.

　　Maycomb was interested by the news of Tom's death for perhaps twodays; two days was enough for the information to spread through thecounty. "Did you hear about?… No? Well, they say he was runnin' fitto beat lightnin'…" To Maycomb, Tom's death was typical. Typicalof a nigger to cut and run. Typical of a nigger's mentality to have noplan, no thought for the future, just run blind first chance he saw.

　　Funny thing, Atticus Finch might've got him off scot free, butwait-? Hell no. You know how they are. Easy come, easy go. Justshows you, that Robinson boy was legally married, they say he kepthimself clean, went to church and all that, but when it comes downto the line the veneer's mighty thin. Nigger always comes out in 'em.

　　A few more details, enabling the listener to repeat his version inturn, then nothing to talk about until The Maycomb Tribuneappeared the following Thursday. There was a brief obituary in theColored News, but there was also an editorial.

　　Mr. B. B. Underwood was at his most bitter, and he couldn't havecared less who canceled advertising and subscriptions. （But Maycombdidn't play that way: Mr. Underwood could holler till he sweated andwrite whatever he wanted to, he'd still get his advertising andsubscriptions. If he wanted to make a fool of himself in his paperthat was his business.） Mr. Underwood didn't talk about miscarriagesof justice, he was writing so children could understand. Mr. Underwoodsimply figured it was a sin to kill cripples, be they standing,sitting, or escaping. He likened Tom's death to the senselessslaughter of songbirds by hunters and children, and Maycomb thought hewas trying to write an editorial poetical enough to be reprinted inThe Montgomery Advertiser.

　　How could this be so, I wondered, as I read Mr. Underwood'seditorial. Senseless killing- Tom had been given due process of law tothe day of his death; he had been tried openly and convicted by twelvegood men and true; my father had fought for him all the way. ThenMr. Underwood's meaning became clear: Atticus had used every toolavailable to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courtsof men's hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minuteMayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

　　The name Ewell gave me a queasy feeling. Maycomb had lost no time ingetting Mr. Ewell's views on Tom's demise and passing them alongthrough that English Channel of gossip, Miss Stephanie Crawford.

　　Miss Stephanie told Aunt Alexandra in Jem's presence （"Oh foot, he'sold enough to listen."） that Mr. Ewell said it made one down and abouttwo more to go. Jem told me not to be afraid, Mr. Ewell was more hotgas than anything. Jem also told me that if I breathed a word toAtticus, if in any way I let Atticus know I knew, Jem would personallynever speak to me again.

　　26School started, and so did our daily trips past the Radley Place.

　　Jem was in the seventh grade and went to high school, beyond thegrammar-school building; I was now in the third grade, and ourroutines were so different I only walked to school with Jem in themornings and saw him at mealtimes. He went out for football, but wastoo slender and too young yet to do anything but carry the teamwater buckets. This he did with enthusiasm; most afternoons he wasseldom home before dark.

　　The Radley Place had ceased to terrify me, but it was no lessgloomy, no less chilly under its great oaks, and no less uninviting.

　　Mr. Nathan Radley could still be seen on a clear day, walking to andfrom town; we knew Boo was there, for the same old reason- nobody'dseen him carried out yet. I sometimes felt a twinge of remorse, whenpassing by the old place, at ever having taken part in what musthave been sheer torment to Arthur Radley- what reasonable reclusewants children peeping through his shutters, delivering greetings onthe end of a fishing-pole, wandering in his collards at night?

　　And yet I remembered. Two Indian-head pennies, chewing gum, soapdolls, a rusty medal, a broken watch and chain. Jem must have put themaway somewhere. I stopped and looked at the tree one afternoon: thetrunk was swelling around its cement patch. The patch itself wasturning yellow.

　　We had almost seen him a couple of times, a good enough score foranybody.

　　But I still looked for him each time I went by. Maybe someday wewould see him. I imagined how it would be: when it happened, he'd justbe sitting in the swing when I came along. "Hidy do, Mr. Arthur," Iwould say, as if I had said it every afternoon of my life. "Evening,Jean Louise," he would say, as if he had said it every afternoon of mylife, "right pretty spell we're having, isn't it?" "Yes sir, rightpretty," I would say, and go on.

　　It was only a fantasy. We would never see him. He probably did goout when the moon was down and gaze upon Miss Stephanie Crawford.

　　I'd have picked somebody else to look at, but that was his business.

　　He would never gaze at us.

　　"You aren't starting that again, are you?" said Atticus one night,when I expressed a stray desire just to have one good look at BooRadley before I died. "If you are, I'll tell you right now: stop it.

　　I'm too old to go chasing you off the Radley property. Besides, it'sdangerous. You might get shot. You know Mr. Nathan shoots at everyshadow he sees, even shadows that leave size-four bare footprints. Youwere lucky not to be killed."I hushed then and there. At the same time I marveled at Atticus.

　　This was the first he had let us know he knew a lot more aboutsomething than we thought he knew. And it had happened years ago.

　　No, only last summer- no, summer before last, when… time was playingtricks on me. I must remember to ask Jem.

　　So many things had happened to us, Boo Radley was the least of ourfears. Atticus said he didn't see how anything else could happen, thatthings had a way of settling down, and after enough time passed peoplewould forget that Tom Robinson's existence was ever brought to theirattention.

　　Perhaps Atticus was right, but the events of the summer hung over uslike smoke in a closed room. The adults in Maycomb never discussed thecase with Jem and me; it seemed that they discussed it with theirchildren, and their attitude must have been that neither of us couldhelp having Atticus for a parent, so their children must be nice to usin spite of him. The children would never have thought that up forthemselves: had our classmates been left to their own devices, Jem andI would have had several swift, satisfying fist-fights apiece andended the matter for good. As it was, we were compelled to hold ourheads high and be, respectively, a gentleman and a lady. In a way,it was like the era of Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose, without all heryelling. There was one odd thing, though, that I never understood:

　　in spite of Atticus's shortcomings as a parent, people were content tore-elect him to the state legislature that year, as usual, withoutopposition. I came to the conclusion that people were just peculiar, Iwithdrew from them, and never thought about them until I was forcedto.

　　I was forced to one day in school. Once a week, we had a CurrentEvents period. Each child was supposed to clip an item from anewspaper, absorb its contents, and reveal them to the class. Thispractice allegedly overcame a variety of evils: standing in front ofhis fellows encouraged good posture and gave a child poise; deliveringa short talk made him word-conscious; learning his current eventstrengthened his memory; being singled out made him more than everanxious to return to the Group.

　　The idea was profound, but as usual, in Maycomb it didn't workvery well. In the first place, few rural children had access tonewspapers, so the burden of Current Events was borne by the townchildren, convincing the bus children more deeply that the townchildren got all the attention anyway. The rural children who could,usually brought clippings from what they called The Grit Paper, apublication spurious in the eyes of Miss Gates, our teacher. Why shefrowned when a child recited from The Grit Paper I never knew, butin some way it was associated with liking fiddling, eating syrupybiscuits for lunch, being a holy-roller, singing Sweetly Sings theDonkey and pronouncing it dunkey, all of which the state paidteachers to discourage.

　　Even so, not many of the children knew what a Current Event was.

　　Little Chuck Little, a hundred years old in his knowledge of cowsand their habits, was halfway through an Uncle Natchell story whenMiss Gates stopped him: "Charles, that is not a current event. That isan advertisement."Cecil Jacobs knew what one was, though. When his turn came, hewent to the front of the room and began, "Old Hitler-""Adolf Hitler, Cecil," said Miss Gates. "One never begins with Oldanybody.""Yes ma'am," he said. "Old Adolf Hitler has been prosecutin' the-""Persecuting Cecil…""Nome, Miss Gates, it says here- well anyway, old Adolf Hitler hasbeen after the Jews and he's puttin' 'em in prisons and he's takingaway all their property and he won't let any of 'em out of the countryand he's washin' all the feeble-minded and-""Washing the feeble-minded?""Yes ma'am, Miss Gates, I reckon they don't have sense enough towash themselves, I don't reckon an idiot could keep hisself clean.

　　Well anyway, Hitler's started a program to round up all thehalf-Jews too and he wants to register 'em in case they might wantacause him any trouble and I think this is a bad thing and that's mycurrent event.""Very good, Cecil," said Miss Gates. Puffing, Cecil returned tohis seat.

　　A hand went up in the back of the room. "How can he do that?""Who do what?" asked Miss Gates patiently.

　　"I mean how can Hitler just put a lot of folks in a pen like that,looks like the govamint'd stop him," said the owner of the hand.

　　"Hitler is the government," said Miss Gates, and seizing anopportunity to make education dynamic, she went to the blackboard. Sheprinted DEMOCRACY in large letters. "Democracy," she said. "Doesanybody have a definition?""Us," somebody said.

　　I raised my hand, remembering an old campaign slogan Atticus hadonce told me about.

　　"What do you think it means, Jean Louise?""'Equal rights for all, special privileges for none,'" I quoted.

　　"Very good, Jean Louise, very good," Miss Gates smiled. In frontof DEMOCRACY, she printed WE ARE A. "Now class, say it all together,'We are a democracy.'"We said it. Then Miss Gates said, "That's the difference betweenAmerica and Germany. We are a democracy and Germany is a dictatorship.

　　Dictator-ship," she said. "Over here we don't believe in persecutinganybody. Persecution comes from people who are prejudiced. Prejudice,"she enunciated carefully. "There are no better people in the worldthan the Jews, and why Hitler doesn't think so is a mystery to me."An inquiring soul in the middle of the room said, "Why don't theylike the Jews, you reckon, Miss Gates?""I don't know, Henry. They contribute to every society they live in,and most of all, they are a deeply religious people. Hitler's tryingto do away with religion, so maybe he doesn't like them for thatreason."Cecil spoke up. "Well I don't know for certain," he said, "they'resupposed to change money or somethin', but that ain't no cause topersecute 'em. They're white, ain't they?"Miss Gates said, "When you get to high school, Cecil, you'll learnthat the Jews have been persecuted since the beginning of history,even driven out of their own country. It's one of the most terriblestories in history. Time for arithmetic, children."As I had never liked arithmetic, I spent the period looking outthe window. The only time I ever saw Atticus scowl was when ElmerDavis would give us the latest on Hitler. Atticus would snap off theradio and say, "Hmp!" I asked him once why he was impatient withHitler and Atticus said, "Because he's a maniac."This would not do, I mused, as the class proceeded with its sums.

　　One maniac and millions of German folks. Looked to me like they'd shutHitler in a pen instead of letting him shut them up. There wassomething else wrong- I would ask my father about it.

　　I did, and he said he could not possibly answer my questionbecause he didn't know the answer.

　　"But it's okay to hate Hitler?""It is not," he said. "It's not okay to hate anybody.""Atticus," I said, "there's somethin' I don't understand. Miss Gatessaid it was awful, Hitler doin' like he does, she got real red inthe face about it-""I should think she would.""But-""Yes?""Nothing, sir." I went away, not sure that I could explain toAtticus what was on my mind, not sure that I could clarify what wasonly a feeling. Perhaps Jem could provide the answer. Jem understoodschool things better than Atticus.

　　Jem was worn out from a day's water-carrying. There were at leasttwelve banana peels on the floor by his bed, surrounding an empty milkbottle. "Whatcha stuffin' for?" I asked.

　　"Coach says if I can gain twenty-five pounds by year after next Ican play," he said. "This is the quickest way.""If you don't throw it all up. Jem," I said, "I wanta ask yousomethin'.""Shoot." He put down his book and stretched his legs.

　　"Miss Gates is a nice lady, ain't she?""Why sure," said Jem. "I liked her when I was in her room.""She hates Hitler a lot…""What's wrong with that?""Well, she went on today about how bad it was him treatin' theJews like that. Jem, it's not right to persecute anybody, is it? Imean have mean thoughts about anybody, even, is it?""Gracious no, Scout. What's eatin' you?""Well, coming out of the courthouse that night Miss Gates was- shewas goin' down the steps in front of us, you musta not seen her- shewas talking with Miss Stephanie Crawford. I heard her say it's timesomebody taught 'em a lesson, they were gettin' way abovethemselves, an' the next thing they think they can do is marry us.

　　Jem, how can you hate Hitler so bad an' then turn around and be uglyabout folks right at home-"Jem was suddenly furious. He leaped off the bed, grabbed me by thecollar and shook me. "I never wanta hear about that courthouseagain, ever, ever, you hear me? You hear me? Don't you ever say oneword to me about it again, you hear? Now go on!"I was too surprised to cry. I crept from Jem's room and shut thedoor softly, lest undue noise set him off again. Suddenly tired, Iwanted Atticus. He was in the livingroom, and I went to him andtried to get in his lap.

　　Atticus smiled. "You're getting so big now, I'll just have to hold apart of you." He held me close. "Scout," he said softly, "don't letJem get you down. He's having a rough time these days. I heard youback there."Atticus said that Jem was trying hard to forget something, butwhat he was really doing was storing it away for a while, until enoughtime passed. Then he would be able to think about it and sort thingsout. When he was able to think about it, Jem would be himself again.

　　27Things did settle down, after a fashion, as Atticus said they would.

　　By the middle of October, only two small things out of the ordinaryhappened to two Maycomb citizens. No, there were three things, andthey did not directly concern us- the Finches- but in a way they did.

　　The first thing was that Mr. Bob Ewell acquired and lost a job ina matter of days and probably made himself unique in the annals of thenineteen-thirties: he was the only man I ever heard of who was firedfrom the WPA for laziness. I suppose his brief burst of fame broughton a briefer burst of industry, but his job lasted only as long as hisnotoriety: Mr. Ewell found himself as forgotten as Tom Robinson.

　　Thereafter, he resumed his regular weekly appearances at the welfareoffice for his check, and received it with no grace amid obscuremutterings that the bastards who thought they ran this town wouldn'tpermit an honest man to make a living. Ruth Jones, the welfare lady,said Mr. Ewell openly accused Atticus of getting his job. She wasupset enough to walk down to Atticus's office and tell him about it.

　　Atticus told Miss Ruth not to fret, that if Bob Ewell wanted todiscuss Atticus's "getting" his job, he knew the way to the office.

　　The second thing happened to Judge Taylor. Judge Taylor was not aSunday-night churchgoer: Mrs. Taylor was. Judge Taylor savored hisSunday night hour alone in his big house, and churchtime found himholed up in his study reading the writings of Bob Taylor （no kin,but the judge would have been proud to claim it）。 One Sunday night,lost in fruity metaphors and florid diction, Judge Taylor'sattention was wrenched from the page by an irritating scratchingnoise. "Hush," he said to Ann Taylor, his fat nondescript dog. Then herealized he was speaking to an empty room; the scratching noise wascoming from the rear of the house. Judge Taylor clumped to the backporch to let Ann out and found the screen door swinging open. A shadowon the corner of the house caught his eye, and that was all he sawof his visitor. Mrs. Taylor came home from church to find herhusband in his chair, lost in the writings of Bob Taylor, with ashotgun across his lap.

　　The third thing happened to Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr.

　　Ewell was as forgotten as Tom Robinson, Tom Robinson was asforgotten as Boo Radley. But Tom was not forgotten by his employer,Mr. Link Deas. Mr. Link Deas made a job for Helen. He didn't reallyneed her, but he said he felt right bad about the way things turnedout. I never knew who took care of her children while Helen wasaway. Calpurnia said it was hard on Helen, because she had to walknearly a mile out of her way to avoid the Ewells, who, according toHelen, "chunked at her" the first time she tried to use the publicroad. Mr. Link Deas eventually received the impression that Helenwas coming to work each morning from the wrong direction, anddragged the reason out of her. "Just let it be, Mr. Link, please suh,"Helen begged. "The hell I will," said Mr. Link. He told her to come byhis store that afternoon before she left. She did, and Mr. Link closedhis store, put his hat firmly on his head, and walked Helen home. Hewalked her the short way, by the Ewells'. On his way back, Mr. Linkstopped at the crazy gate.

　　"Ewell?" he called. "I say Ewell!"The windows, normally packed with children, were empty.

　　"I know every last one of you's in there a-layin' on the floor!

　　Now hear me, Bob Ewell: if I hear one more peep outa my girl Helenabout not bein' able to walk this road I'll have you in jail beforesundown!" Mr. Link spat in the dust and walked home.

　　Helen went to work next morning and used the public road. Nobodychunked at her, but when she was a few yards beyond the Ewell house,she looked around and saw Mr. Ewell walking behind her. She turned andwalked on, and Mr. Ewell kept the same distance behind her until shereached Mr. Link Deas's house. All the way to the house, Helen said,she heard a soft voice behind her, crooning foul words. Thoroughlyfrightened, she telephoned Mr. Link at his store, which was not toofar from his house. As Mr. Link came out of his store he saw Mr. Ewellleaning on the fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Don't you look at me, LinkDeas, like I was dirt. I ain't jumped your-""First thing you can do, Ewell, is get your stinkin' carcass offmy property. You're leanin' on it an' I can't afford fresh paint forit. Second thing you can do is stay away from my cook or I'll have youup for assault-""I ain't touched her, Link Deas, and ain't about to go with nonigger!""You don't have to touch her, all you have to do is make her afraid,an' if assault ain't enough to keep you locked up awhile, I'll get youin on the Ladies' Law, so get outa my sight! If you don't think I meanit, just bother that girl again!"Mr. Ewell evidently thought he meant it, for Helen reported nofurther trouble.

　　"I don't like it, Atticus, I don't like it at all," was AuntAlexandra's assessment of these events. "That man seems to have apermanent running grudge against everybody connected with that case. Iknow how that kind are about paying off grudges, but I don'tunderstand why he should harbor one- he had his way in court, didn'the?""I think I understand," said Atticus. "It might be because heknows in his heart that very few people in Maycomb really believed hisand Mayella's yarns. He thought he'd be a hero, but all he got for hispain was… was, okay, we'll convict this Negro but get back to yourdump. He's had his fling with about everybody now, so he ought to besatisfied. He'll settle down when the weather changes.""But why should he try to burgle John Taylor's house? He obviouslydidn't know John was home or he wouldn't've tried. Only lights Johnshows on Sunday nights are on the front porch and back in his den…""You don't know if Bob Ewell cut that screen, you don't know who didit," said Atticus. "But I can guess. I proved him a liar but John madehim look like a fool. All the time Ewell was on the stand I couldn'tdare look at John and keep a straight face. John looked at him as ifhe were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judgesdon't try to prejudice juries," Atticus chuckled.

　　By the end of October, our lives had become the familiar routineof school, play, study. Jem seemed to have put out of his mindwhatever it was he wanted to forget, and our classmates mercifully letus forget our father's eccentricities. Cecil Jacobs asked me onetime if Atticus was a Radical. When I asked Atticus, Atticus was soamused I was rather annoyed, but he said he wasn't laughing at me.

　　He said, "You tell Cecil I'm about as radical as Cotton Tom Heflin."Aunt Alexandra was thriving. Miss Maudie must have silenced thewhole missionary society at one blow, for Aunty again ruled thatroost. Her refreshments grew even more delicious. I learned more aboutthe poor Mrunas' social life from listening to Mrs. Merriweather: theyhad so little sense of family that the whole tribe was one big family.

　　A child had as many fathers as there were men in the community, asmany mothers as there were women. J. Grimes Everett was doing hisutmost to change this state of affairs, and desperately needed ourprayers.

　　Maycomb was itself again. Precisely the same as last year and theyear before that, with only two minor changes. Firstly, people hadremoved from their store windows and automobiles the stickers thatsaid NRA- WE DO OUR PART. I asked Atticus why, and he said it wasbecause the National Recovery Act was dead. I asked who killed it:

　　he said nine old men.

　　The second change in Maycomb since last year was not one of nationalsignificance. Until then, Halloween in Maycomb was a completelyunorganized affair. Each child did what he wanted to do, withassistance from other children if there was anything to be moved, suchas placing a light buggy on top of the livery stable. But parentsthought things went too far last year, when the peace of Miss Tuttiand Miss Frutti was shattered.

　　Misses Tutti and Frutti Barber were maiden ladies, sisters, wholived together in the only Maycomb residence boasting a cellar. TheBarber ladies were rumored to be Republicans, having migrated fromClanton, Alabama, in 1911. Their ways were strange to us, and why theywanted a cellar nobody knew, but they wanted one and they dug one, andthey spent the rest of their lives chasing generations of children outof it.

　　Misses Tutti and Frutti （their names were Sarah and Frances），aside from their Yankee ways, were both deaf. Miss Tutti denied it andlived in a world of silence, but Miss Frutti, not about to missanything, employed an ear trumpet so enormous that Jem declared it wasa loudspeaker from one of those dog Victrolas.

　　With these facts in mind and Halloween at hand, some wicked childrenhad waited until the Misses Barber were thoroughly asleep, slippedinto their livingroom （nobody but the Radleys locked up at night），stealthily made away with every stick of furniture therein, and hid itin the cellar. I deny having taken part in such a thing.

　　"I heard 'em!" was the cry that awoke the Misses Barber'sneighbors at dawn next morning. "Heard 'em drive a truck up to thedoor! Stomped around like horses. They're in New Orleans by now!"Miss Tutti was sure those traveling fur sellers who came throughtown two days ago had purloined their furniture. "Da-rk they were,"she said. "Syrians."Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. He surveyed the area and said he thoughtit was a local job. Miss Frutti said she'd know a Maycomb voiceanywhere, and there were no Maycomb voices in that parlor lastnight- rolling their r's all over her premises, they were. Nothingless than the bloodhounds must be used to locate their furniture, MissTutti insisted, so Mr. Tate was obliged to go ten miles out theroad, round up the county hounds, and put them on the trail.

　　Mr. Tate started them off at the Misses Barber's front steps, butall they did was run around to the back of the house and howl at thecellar door. When Mr. Tate set them in motion three times, hefinally guessed the truth. By noontime that day, there was not abarefooted child to be seen in Maycomb and nobody took off his shoesuntil the hounds were returned.

　　So the Maycomb ladies said things would be different this year.

　　The high-school auditorium would be open, there would be a pageant forthe grown-ups; apple-bobbing, taffy-pulling, pinning the tail on thedonkey for the children. There would also be a prize of twenty-fivecents for the best Halloween costume, created by the wearer.

　　Jem and I both groaned. Not that we'd ever done anything, it was theprinciple of the thing. Jem considered himself too old for Halloweenanyway; he said he wouldn't be caught anywhere near the high school atsomething like that. Oh well, I thought, Atticus would take me.

　　I soon learned, however, that my services would be required on stagethat evening. Mrs. Grace Merriweather had composed an original pageantentitled Maycomb County: Ad Astra Per Aspera, and I was to be a ham.

　　She thought it would be adorable if some of the children were costumedto represent the county's agricultural products: Cecil Jacobs would bedressed up to look like a cow; Agnes Boone would make a lovelybutterbean, another child would be a peanut, and on down the lineuntil Mrs. Merriweather's imagination and the supply of childrenwere exhausted.

　　Our only duties, as far as I could gather from our two rehearsals,were to enter from stage left as Mrs. Merriweather （not only theauthor, but the narrator） identified us. When she called out,"Pork," that was my cue. Then the assembled company would sing,"Maycomb County, Maycomb County, we will aye be true to thee," asthe grand finale, and Mrs. Merriweather would mount the stage with thestate flag.

　　My costume was not much of a problem. Mrs. Crenshaw, the localseamstress, had as much imagination as Mrs. Merriweather. Mrs.

　　Crenshaw took some chicken wire and bent it into the shape of acured ham. This she covered with brown cloth, and painted it toresemble the original. I could duck under and someone would pull thecontraption down over my head. It came almost to my knees. Mrs.

　　Crenshaw thoughtfully left two peepholes for me. She did a fine job.

　　Jem said I looked exactly like a ham with legs. There were severaldiscomforts, though: it was hot, it was a close fit; if my nose itchedI couldn't scratch, and once inside I could not get out of it alone.

　　When Halloween came, I assumed that the whole family would bepresent to watch me perform, but I was disappointed. Atticus said astactfully as he could that he just didn't think he could stand apageant tonight, he was all in. He had been in Montgomery for a weekand had come home late that afternoon. He thought Jem might escortme if I asked him.

　　Aunt Alexandra said she just had to get to bed early, she'd beendecorating the stage all afternoon and was worn out- she stopped shortin the middle of her sentence. She closed her mouth, then opened it tosay something, but no words came.

　　"'s matter, Aunty?" I asked.

　　"Oh nothing, nothing," she said, "somebody just walked over mygrave." She put away from her whatever it was that gave her a pinprickof apprehension, and suggested that I give the family a preview in thelivingroom. So Jem squeezed me into my costume, stood at thelivingroom door, called out "Po-ork," exactly as Mrs. Merriweatherwould have done, and I marched in. Atticus and Aunt Alexandra weredelighted.

　　I repeated my part for Calpurnia in the kitchen and she said I waswonderful. I wanted to go across the street to show Miss Maudie, butJem said she'd probably be at the pageant anyway.

　　After that, it didn't matter whether they went or not. Jem said hewould take me. Thus began our longest journey together.

　　28The weather was unusually warm for the last day of October. Wedidn't even need jackets. The wind was growing stronger, and Jemsaid it might be raining before we got home. There was no moon.

　　The street light on the corner cast sharp shadows on the Radleyhouse. I heard Jem laugh softly. "Bet nobody bothers them tonight," hesaid. Jem was carrying my ham costume, rather awkwardly, as it washard to hold. I thought it gallant of him to do so.

　　"It is a scary place though, ain't it?" I said. "Boo doesn't meananybody any harm, but I'm right glad you're along.""You know Atticus wouldn't let you go to the schoolhouse byyourself," Jem said.

　　"Don't see why, it's just around the corner and across the yard.""That yard's a mighty long place for little girls to cross atnight," Jem teased. "Ain't you scared of haints?"We laughed. Haints, Hot Steams, incantations, secret signs, hadvanished with our years as mist with sunrise. "What was that oldthing," Jem said, "Angel bright, life-in-death; get off the road,don't suck my breath.""Cut it out, now," I said. We were in front of the Radley Place.

　　Jem said, "Boo must not be at home. Listen."High above us in the darkness a solitary mocker poured out hisrepertoire in blissful unawareness of whose tree he sat in, plungingfrom the shrill kee, kee of the sunflower bird to the irasciblequa-ack of a bluejay, to the sad lament of Poor Will, Poor Will,Poor Will.

　　We turned the corner and I tripped on a root growing in the road.

　　Jem tried to help me, but all he did was drop my costume in thedust. I didn't fall, though, and soon we were on our way again.

　　We turned off the road and entered the schoolyard. It was pitchblack.

　　"How do you know where we're at, Jem?" I asked, when we had gone afew steps.

　　"I can tell we're under the big oak because we're passin' througha cool spot. Careful now, and don't fall again."We had slowed to a cautious gait, and were feeling our way forwardso as not to bump into the tree. The tree was a single and ancientoak; two children could not reach around its trunk and touch hands. Itwas far away from teachers, their spies, and curious neighbors: it wasnear the Radley lot, but the Radleys were not curious. A small patchof earth beneath its branches was packed hard from many fights andfurtive crap games.

　　The lights in the high school auditorium were blazing in thedistance, but they blinded us, if anything. "Don't look ahead, Scout,"Jem said. "Look at the ground and you won't fall.""You should have brought the flashlight, Jem.""Didn't know it was this dark. Didn't look like it'd be this darkearlier in the evening. So cloudy, that's why. It'll hold off a while,though."Someone leaped at us.

　　"God almighty!" Jem yelled.

　　A circle of light burst in our faces, and Cecil Jacobs jumped inglee behind it. "Ha-a-a, gotcha!" he shrieked. "Thought you'd becomin' along this way!""What are you doin' way out here by yourself, boy? Ain't youscared of Boo Radley?"Cecil had ridden safely to the auditorium with his parents, hadn'tseen us, then had ventured down this far because he knew good and wellwe'd be coming along. He thought Mr. Finch'd be with us, though.

　　"Shucks, ain't much but around the corner," said Jem. "Who'sscared to go around the corner?" We had to admit that Cecil was prettygood, though. He had given us a fright, and he could tell it allover the schoolhouse, that was his privilege.

　　"Say," I said, "ain't you a cow tonight? Where's your costume?""It's up behind the stage," he said. "Mrs. Merriweather says thepageant ain't comin' on for a while. You can put yours back of thestage by mine, Scout, and we can go with the rest of 'em."This was an excellent idea, Jem thought. He also thought it a goodthing that Cecil and I would be together. This way, Jem would beleft to go with people his own age.

　　When we reached the auditorium, the whole town was there exceptAtticus and the ladies worn out from decorating, and the usualoutcasts and shut-ins. Most of the county, it seemed, was there: thehall was teeming with slicked-up country people. The high schoolbuilding had a wide downstairs hallway; people milled around boothsthat had been installed along each side.

　　"Oh Jem. I forgot my money," I sighed, when I saw them.

　　"Atticus didn't," Jem said. "Here's thirty cents, you can do sixthings. See you later on.""Okay," I said, quite content with thirty cents and Cecil. I wentwith Cecil down to the front of the auditorium, through a door onone side, and backstage. I got rid of my ham costume and departed in ahurry, for Mrs. Merriweather was standing at a lectern in front of thefirst row of seats making last-minute, frenzied changes in the script.

　　"How much money you got?" I asked Cecil. Cecil had thirty cents,too, which made us even. We squandered our first nickels on theHouse of Horrors, which scared us not at all; we entered the blackseventh-grade room and were led around by the temporary ghoul inresidence and were made to touch several objects alleged to becomponent parts of a human being. "Here's his eyes," we were told whenwe touched two peeled grapes on a saucer. "Here's his heart," whichfelt like raw liver. "These are his innards," and our hands werethrust into a plate of cold spaghetti.

　　Cecil and I visited several booths. We each bought a sack of Mrs.

　　Judge Taylor's homemade divinity. I wanted to bob for apples, butCecil said it wasn't sanitary. His mother said he might catchsomething from everybody's heads having been in the same tub. "Ain'tanything around town now to catch," I protested. But Cecil said hismother said it was unsanitary to eat after folks. I later asked AuntAlexandra about this, and she said people who held such views wereusually climbers.

　　We were about to purchase a blob of taffy when Mrs. Merriweather'srunners appeared and told us to go backstage, it was time to getready. The auditorium was filling with people; the Maycomb County HighSchool band had assembled in front below the stage; the stagefootlights were on and the red velvet curtain rippled and billowedfrom the scurrying going on behind it.

　　Backstage, Cecil and I found the narrow hallway teeming with people:

　　adults in homemade three-corner hats, Confederate caps,Spanish-American War hats, and World War helmets. Children dressedas various agricultural enterprises crowded around the one smallwindow.

　　"Somebody's mashed my costume," I wailed in dismay. Mrs.

　　Merriweather galloped to me, reshaped the chicken wire, and thrustme inside.

　　"You all right in there, Scout?" asked Cecil. "You sound so far off,like you was on the other side of a hill.""You don't sound any nearer," I said.

　　The band played the national anthem, and we heard the audience rise.

　　Then the bass drum sounded. Mrs. Merriweather, stationed behind herlectern beside the band, said: "Maycomb County Ad Astra Per Aspera."The bass drum boomed again. "That means," said Mrs. Merriweather,translating for the rustic elements, "from the mud to the stars."She added, unnecessarily, it seemed to me, "A pageant.""Reckon they wouldn't know what it was if she didn't tell 'em,"whispered Cecil, who was immediately shushed.

　　"The whole town knows it," I breathed.

　　"But the country folks've come in," Cecil said.

　　"Be quiet back there," a man's voice ordered, and we were silent.

　　The bass drum went boom with every sentence Mrs. Merriweatheruttered. She chanted mournfully about Maycomb County being olderthan the state, that it was a part of the Mississippi and AlabamaTerritories, that the first white man to set foot in the virginforests was the Probate Judge's great-grandfather five timesremoved, who was never heard of again. Then came the fearlessColonel Maycomb, for whom the county was named.

　　Andrew Jackson appointed him to a position of authority, and ColonelMaycomb's misplaced self-confidence and slender sense of directionbrought disaster to all who rode with him in the Creek Indian Wars.

　　Colonel Maycomb persevered in his efforts to make the region safefor democracy, but his first campaign was his last. His orders,relayed to him by a friendly Indian runner, were to move south.

　　After consulting a tree to ascertain from its lichen which way wassouth, and taking no lip from the subordinates who ventured to correcthim, Colonel Maycomb set out on a purposeful journey to rout the enemyand entangled his troops so far northwest in the forest primevalthat they were eventually rescued by settlers moving inland.

　　Mrs. Merriweather gave a thirty-minute description of ColonelMaycomb's exploits. I discovered that if I bent my knees I couldtuck them under my costume and more or less sit. I sat down,listened to Mrs. Merriweather's drone and the bass drum's boom and wassoon fast asleep.

　　They said later that Mrs. Merriweather was putting her all intothe grand finale, that she had crooned, "Po-ork," with a confidenceborn of pine trees and butterbeans entering on cue. She waited a fewseconds, then called, "Po-ork?" When nothing materialized, she yelled,"Pork!"I must have heard her in my sleep, or the band playing Dixiewoke me, but it was when Mrs. Merriweather triumphantly mounted thestage with the state flag that I chose to make my entrance. Chose isincorrect: I thought I'd better catch up with the rest of them.

　　They told me later that Judge Taylor went out behind theauditorium and stood there slapping his knees so hard Mrs. Taylorbrought him a glass of water and one of his pills.

　　Mrs. Merriweather seemed to have a hit, everybody was cheering so,but she caught me backstage and told me I had ruined her pageant.

　　She made me feel awful, but when Jem came to fetch me he wassympathetic. He said he couldn't see my costume much from where he wassitting. How he could tell I was feeling bad under my costume Idon't know, but he said I did all right, I just came in a little late,that was all. Jem was becoming almost as good as Atticus at making youfeel right when things went wrong. Almost- not even Jem could makeme go through that crowd, and he consented to wait backstage with meuntil the audience left.

　　"You wanta take it off, Scout?" he asked.

　　"Naw, I'll just keep it on," I said. I could hide my mortificationunder it.

　　"You all want a ride home?" someone asked.

　　"No sir, thank you," I heard Jem say. "It's just a little walk.""Be careful of haints," the voice said. "Better still, tell thehaints to be careful of Scout.""There aren't many folks left now," Jem told me. "Let's go."We went through the auditorium to the hallway, then down thesteps. It was still black dark. The remaining cars were parked onthe other side of the building, and their headlights were little help.

　　"If some of 'em were goin' in our direction we could see better," saidJem. "Here Scout, let me hold onto your- hock. You might lose yourbalance.""I can see all right.""Yeah, but you might lose your balance." I felt a slight pressure onmy head, and assumed that Jem had grabbed that end of the ham. "Yougot me?""Uh huh."We began crossing the black schoolyard, straining to see our feet.

　　"Jem," I said, "I forgot my shoes, they're back behind the stage.""Well let's go get 'em." But as we turned around the auditoriumlights went off. "You can get 'em tomorrow," he said.

　　"But tomorrow's Sunday," I protested, as Jem turned me homeward.

　　"You can get the Janitor to let you in… Scout?""Hm?""Nothing."Jem hadn't started that in a long time. I wondered what he wasthinking. He'd tell me when he wanted to, probably when we got home. Ifelt his fingers press the top of my costume, too hard, it seemed. Ishook my head. "Jem, you don't hafta-""Hush a minute, Scout," he said, pinching me.

　　We walked along silently. "Minute's up," I said. "Whatcha thinkin'

　　about?" I turned to look at him, but his outline was barely visible.

　　"Thought I heard something," he said. "Stop a minute."We stopped.

　　"Hear anything?" he asked.

　　"No."We had not gone five paces before he made me stop again.

　　"Jem, are you tryin' to scare me? You know I'm too old-""Be quiet," he said, and I knew he was not joking.

　　The night was still. I could hear his breath coming easily besideme. Occasionally there was a sudden breeze that hit my bare legs,but it was all that remained of a promised windy night. This was thestillness before a thunderstorm. We listened.

　　"Heard an old dog just then," I said.

　　"It's not that," Jem answered. "I hear it when we're walkin'

　　along, but when we stop I don't hear it.""You hear my costume rustlin'. Aw, it's just Halloween got you…"I said it more to convince myself than Jem, for sure enough, as webegan walking, I heard what he was talking about. It was not mycostume.

　　"It's just old Cecil," said Jem presently. "He won't get us again.

　　Let's don't let him think we're hurrying."We slowed to a crawl. I asked Jem how Cecil could follow us inthis dark, looked to me like he'd bump into us from behind.

　　"I can see you, Scout," Jem said.

　　"How? I can't see you.""Your fat streaks are showin'. Mrs. Crenshaw painted 'em with someof that shiny stuff so they'd show up under the footlights. I cansee you pretty well, an' I expect Cecil can see you well enough tokeep his distance."I would show Cecil that we knew he was behind us and we were readyfor him. "Cecil Jacobs is a big wet he-en!" I yelled suddenly, turningaround.

　　We stopped. There was no acknowledgement save he-en bouncing off thedistant schoolhouse wall.

　　"I'll get him," said Jem. "He-y!"Hay-e-hay-e-hay-ey, answered the schoolhouse wall. It was unlikeCecil to hold out for so long; once he pulled a joke he'd repeat ittime and again. We should have been leapt at already. Jem signaled forme to stop again.

　　He said softly, "Scout, can you take that thing off?""I think so, but I ain't got anything on under it much.""I've got your dress here.""I can't get it on in the dark.""Okay," he said, "never mind.""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 wastalking in an unhurried, flat toneless voice. I wondered how long hewould 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 wasdifficult to walk fast without stumping a toe, tripping on stones, andother inconveniences, and I was barefooted. Maybe it was the windrustling the trees. But there wasn't any wind and there weren't anytrees except the big oak.

　　Our company shuffled and dragged his feet, as if wearing heavyshoes. Whoever it was wore thick cotton pants; what I thought weretrees 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 thebig oak. Jem pressed my head. We stopped and listened.

　　Shuffle-foot had not stopped with us this time. His trousers swishedsoftly and steadily. Then they stopped. He was running, running towardus 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.

　　"Jem, Jem, help me, Jem!"Something crushed the chicken wire around me. Metal ripped onmetal and I fell to the ground and rolled as far as I could,floundering to escape my wire prison. From somewhere near by camescuffling, kicking sounds, sounds of shoes and flesh scraping dirt androots. Someone rolled against me and I felt Jem. He was up likelightning and pulling me with him but, though my head and shoulderswere free, I was so entangled we didn't get very far.

　　We were nearly to the road when I felt Jem's hand leave me, felt himjerk backwards to the ground. More scuffling, and there came a dullcrunching sound and Jem screamed.

　　I ran in the direction of Jem's scream and sank into a flabby malestomach. Its owner said, "Uff!" and tried to catch my arms, but theywere tightly pinioned. His stomach was soft but his arms were likesteel. He slowly squeezed the breath out of me. I could not move.

　　Suddenly he was jerked backwards and flung on the ground, almostcarrying me with him. I thought, Jem's up.

　　One's mind works very slowly at times. Stunned, I stood theredumbly. The scuffling noises were dying; someone wheezed and the nightwas still again.

　　Still but for a man breathing heavily, breathing heavily andstaggering. I thought he went to the tree and leaned against it. Hecoughed violently, a sobbing, bone-shaking cough.

　　"Jem?"There was no answer but the man's heavy breathing.

　　"Jem?"Jem didn't answer.

　　The man began moving around, as if searching for something. Iheard him groan and pull something heavy along the ground. It wasslowly coming to me that there were now four people under the tree.

　　"Atticus…？"The man was walking heavily and unsteadily toward the road.

　　I went to where I thought he had been and felt frantically along theground, reaching out with my toes. Presently I touched someone.

　　"Jem?"My toes touched trousers, a belt buckle, buttons, something Icould not identify, a collar, and a face. A prickly stubble on theface told me it was not Jem's. I smelled stale whiskey.

　　I made my way along in what I thought was the direction of the road.

　　I was not sure, because I had been turned around so many times. ButI found it and looked down to the street light. A man was passingunder it. The man was walking with the staccato steps of someonecarrying a load too heavy for him. He was going around the corner.

　　He was carrying Jem. Jem's arm was dangling crazily in front of him.

　　By the time I reached the corner the man was crossing our frontyard. Light from our front door framed Atticus for an instant; heran down the steps, and together, he and the man took Jem inside.

　　I was at the front door when they were going down the hall. AuntAlexandra was running to meet me. "Call Dr. Reynolds!" Atticus's voicecame sharply from Jem's room. "Where's Scout?""Here she is," Aunt Alexandra called, pulling me along with her tothe telephone. She tugged at me anxiously. "I'm all right, Aunty," Isaid, "you better call."She pulled the receiver from the hook and said, "Eula May, get Dr.

　　Reynolds, quick!""Agnes, is your father home? Oh God, where is he? Please tell him tocome over here as soon as he comes in. Please, it's urgent!"There was no need for Aunt Alexandra to identify herself, peoplein Maycomb knew each other's voices.

　　Atticus came out of Jem's room. The moment Aunt Alexandra brokethe connection, Atticus took the receiver from her. He rattled thehook, then said, "Eula May, get me the sheriff, please.""Heck? Atticus Finch. Someone's been after my children. Jem'shurt. Between here and the schoolhouse. I can't leave my boy. Runout there for me, please, and see if he's still around. Doubt ifyou'll find him now, but I'd like to see him if you do. Got to go now.

　　Thanks, Heck.""Atticus, is Jem dead?""No, Scout. Look after her, sister," he called, as he went downthe hall.

　　Aunt Alexandra's fingers trembled as she unwound the crushedfabric and wire from around me. "Are you all right, darling?" sheasked over and over as she worked me free.

　　It was a relief to be out. My arms were beginning to tingle, andthey were red with small hexagonal marks. I rubbed them, and they feltbetter.

　　"Aunty, is Jem dead?""No- no, darling, he's unconscious. We won't know how badly he'shurt until Dr. Reynolds gets here. Jean Louise, what happened?""I don't know."She left it at that. She brought me something to put on, and had Ithought about it then, I would have never let her forget it: in herdistraction, Aunty brought me my overalls. "Put these on, darling,"she said, handing me the garments she most despised.

　　She rushed back to Jem's room, then came to me in the hall. Shepatted me vaguely, and went back to Jem's room.

　　A car stopped in front of the house. I knew Dr. Reynolds's stepalmost as well as my father's. He had brought Jem and me into theworld, had led us through every childhood disease known to manincluding the time Jem fell out of the treehouse, and he had neverlost our friendship. Dr. Reynolds said if we had been boil-pronethings would have been different, but we doubted it.

　　He came in the door and said, "Good Lord." He walked toward me,said, "You're still standing," and changed his course. He knew everyroom in the house. He also knew that if I was in bad shape, so wasJem.

　　After ten forevers Dr. Reynolds returned. "Is Jem dead?" I asked.

　　"Far from it," he said, squatting down to me. "He's got a bump onthe head just like yours, and a broken arm. Scout, look that way-no, don't turn your head, roll your eyes. Now look over yonder. He'sgot a bad break, so far as I can tell now it's in the elbow. Likesomebody tried to wring his arm off… Now look at me.""Then he's not dead?""No-o!" Dr. Reynolds got to his feet. "We can't do much tonight," hesaid, "except try to make him as comfortable as we can. We'll haveto X-ray his arm- looks like he'll be wearing his arm 'way out byhis side for a while. Don't worry, though, he'll be as good as new.

　　Boys his age bounce."While he was talking, Dr. Reynolds had been looking keenly at me,lightly fingering the bump that was coming on my forehead. "Youdon't feel broke anywhere, do you?"Dr. Reynolds's small joke made me smile. "Then you don't thinkhe's dead, then?"He put on his hat. "Now I may be wrong, of course, but I thinkhe's very alive. Shows all the symptoms of it. Go have a look athim, and when I come back we'll get together and decide."Dr. Reynolds's step was young and brisk. Mr. Heck Tate's was not.

　　His heavy boots punished the porch and he opened the door awkwardly,but he said the same thing Dr. Reynolds said when he came in. "You allright, Scout?" he added.

　　"Yes sir, I'm goin' in to see Jem. Atticus'n'them's in there.""I'll go with you," said Mr. Tate.

　　Aunt Alexandra had shaded Jem's reading light with a towel, andhis room was dim. Jem was lying on his back. There was an ugly markalong one side of his face. His left arm lay out from his body; hiselbow was bent slightly, but in the wrong direction. Jem was frowning.

　　"Jem…？"Atticus spoke. "He can't hear you, Scout, he's out like a light.

　　He was coming around, but Dr. Reynolds put him out again.""Yes sir." I retreated. Jem's room was large and square. AuntAlexandra was sitting in a rocking-chair by the fireplace. The man whobrought Jem in was standing in a corner, leaning against the wall.

　　He was some countryman I did not know. He had probably been at thepageant, and was in the vicinity when it happened. He must haveheard our screams and come running.

　　Atticus was standing by Jem's bed.

　　Mr. Heck Tate stood in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and aflashlight bulged from his pants pocket. He was in his workingclothes.

　　"Come in, Heck," said Atticus. "Did you find anything? I can'tconceive of anyone low-down enough to do a thing like this, but I hopeyou found him."Mr. Tate sniffed. He glanced sharply at the man in the corner,nodded to him, then looked around the room- at Jem, at Aunt Alexandra,then at Atticus.

　　"Sit down, Mr. Finch," he said pleasantly.

　　Atticus said, "Let's all sit down. Have that chair, Heck. I'll getanother one from the livingroom."Mr. Tate sat in Jem's desk chair. He waited until Atticus returnedand settled himself. I wondered why Atticus had not brought a chairfor the man in the corner, but Atticus knew the ways of country peoplefar better than I. Some of his rural clients would park theirlong-eared steeds under the chinaberry trees in the back yard, andAtticus would often keep appointments on the back steps. This onewas probably more comfortable where he was.

　　"Mr. Finch," said Mr. Tate, "tell you what I found. I found a littlegirl's dress- it's out there in my car. That your dress, Scout?""Yes sir, if it's a pink one with smockin'," I said. Mr. Tate wasbehaving as if he were on the witness stand. He liked to tell thingshis own way, untrammeled by state or defense, and sometimes it tookhim a while.

　　"I found some funny-looking pieces of muddy-colored cloth-""That's m'costume, Mr. Tate."Mr. Tate ran his hands down his thighs. He rubbed his left arm andinvestigated Jem's mantelpiece, then he seemed to be interested in thefireplace. His fingers sought his long nose.

　　"What is it, Heck?" said Atticus.

　　Mr. Tate found his neck and rubbed it. "Bob Ewell's lyin' on theground under that tree down yonder with a kitchen knife stuck up underhis ribs. He's dead, Mr. Finch."29Aunt Alexandra got up and reached for the mantelpiece. Mr. Taterose, but she declined assistance. For once in his life, Atticus'sinstinctive courtesy failed him: he sat where he was.

　　Somehow, I could think of nothing but Mr. Bob Ewell saying he'dget Atticus if it took him the rest of his life. Mr. Ewell almostgot him, and it was the last thing he did.

　　"Are you sure?" Atticus said bleakly.

　　"He's dead all right," said Mr. Tate. "He's good and dead. Hewon't hurt these children again.""I didn't mean that." Atticus seemed to be talking in his sleep. Hisage was beginning to show, his one sign of inner turmoil, the strongline of his jaw melted a little, one became aware of telltalecreases forming under his ears, one noticed not his jet-black hair butthe gray patches growing at his temples.

　　"Hadn't we better go to the livingroom?" Aunt Alexandra said atlast.

　　"If you don't mind," said Mr. Tate, "I'd rather us stay in here ifit won't hurt Jem any. I want to have a look at his injuries whileScout… tells us about it.""Is it all right if I leave?" she asked. "I'm just one person toomany in here. I'll be in my room if you want me, Atticus." AuntAlexandra went to the door, but she stopped and turned. "Atticus, Ihad a feeling about this tonight- I- this is my fault," she began.

　　"I should have-"Mr. Tate held up his hand. "You go ahead, Miss Alexandra, I knowit's been a shock to you. And don't you fret yourself aboutanything- why, if we followed our feelings all the time we'd be likecats chasin' their tails. Miss Scout, see if you can tell us whathappened, while it's still fresh in your mind. You think you can?

　　Did you see him following you?"I went to Atticus and felt his arms go around me. I buried my headin his lap. "We started home. I said Jem, I've forgot m'shoes.

　　Soon's we started back for 'em the lights went out. Jem said I couldget 'em tomorrow…""Scout, raise up so Mr. Tate can hear you," Atticus said. Icrawled into his lap.

　　"Then Jem said hush a minute. I thought he was thinkin'- he alwayswants you to hush so he can think- then he said he heard somethin'. Wethought it was Cecil.""Cecil?""Cecil Jacobs. He scared us once tonight, an' we thought it washim again. He had on a sheet. They gave a quarter for the bestcostume, I don't know who won it-""Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?""Just a little piece from the schoolhouse. I yelled somethin' athim-""You yelled, what?""Cecil Jacobs is a big fat hen, I think. We didn't hear nothin'-then Jem yelled hello or somethin' loud enough to wake the dead-""Just a minute, Scout," said Mr. Tate. "Mr. Finch, did you hearthem?"Atticus said he didn't. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra had hersgoing in her bedroom. He remembered because she told him to turn hisdown a bit so she could hear hers. Atticus smiled. "I always play aradio too loud.""I wonder if the neighbors heard anything…" said Mr. Tate.

　　"I doubt it, Heck. Most of them listen to their radios or go tobed with the chickens. Maudie Atkinson may have been up, but I doubtit.""Go ahead, Scout," Mr. Tate said.

　　"Well, after Jem yelled we walked on. Mr. Tate, I was shut up inmy costume but I could hear it myself, then. Footsteps, I mean. Theywalked when we walked and stopped when we stopped. Jem said he couldsee me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some kind of shiny paint on mycostume. I was a ham.""How's that?" asked Mr. Tate, startled.

　　Atticus described my role to Mr. Tate, plus the construction of mygarment. "You should have seen her when she came in," he said, "it wascrushed to a pulp."Mr. Tate rubbed his chin. "I wondered why he had those marks on him,His sleeves were perforated with little holes. There were one or twolittle puncture marks on his arms to match the holes. Let me seethat thing if you will, sir."Atticus fetched the remains of my costume. Mr. Tate turned it overand bent it around to get an idea of its former shape. "This thingprobably saved her life," he said. "Look."He pointed with a long forefinger. A shiny clean line stood out onthe dull wire. "Bob Ewell meant business," Mr. Tate muttered.

　　"He was out of his mind," said Atticus.

　　"Don't like to contradict you, Mr. Finch- wasn't crazy, mean ashell. Low-down skunk with enough liquor in him to make him braveenough to kill children. He'd never have met you face to face."Atticus shook his head. "I can't conceive of a man who'd-""Mr. Finch, there's just some kind of men you have to shoot beforeyou can say hidy to 'em. Even then, they ain't worth the bullet ittakes to shoot 'em. Ewell 'as one of 'em."Atticus said, "I thought he got it all out of him the day hethreatened me. Even if he hadn't, I thought he'd come after me.""He had guts enough to pester a poor colored woman, he had gutsenough to pester Judge Taylor when he thought the house was empty,so do you think he'da met you to your face in daylight?" Mr. Tatesighed. "We'd better get on. Scout, you heard him behind you-""Yes sir. When we got under the tree-""How'd you know you were under the tree, you couldn't see thunderout there.""I was barefooted, and Jem says the ground's always cooler under atree.""We'll have to make him a deputy, go ahead.""Then all of a sudden somethin' grabbed me an' mashed mycostume… think I ducked on the ground… heard a tusslin' underthe tree sort of… they were bammin' against the trunk, sounded like.

　　Jem found me and started pullin' me toward the road. Some- Mr. Ewellyanked him down, I reckon. They tussled some more and then there wasthis funny noise- Jem hollered…" I stopped. That was Jem's arm.

　　"Anyway, Jem hollered and I didn't hear him any more an' the nextthing- Mr. Ewell was tryin' to squeeze me to death, I reckon… thensomebody yanked Mr. Ewell down. Jem must have got up, I guess.

　　That's all I know…""And then?" Mr. Tate was looking at me sharply.

　　"Somebody was staggerin' around and pantin' and- coughing fit todie. I thought it was Jem at first, but it didn't sound like him, so Iwent lookin' for Jem on the ground. I thought Atticus had come to helpus and had got wore out-""Who was it?""Why there he is, Mr. Tate, he can tell you his name."As I said it, I half pointed to the man in the corner, but broughtmy arm down quickly lest Atticus reprimand me for pointing. It wasimpolite to point.

　　He was still leaning against the wall. He had been leaning againstthe wall when I came into the room, his arms folded across hischest. As I pointed he brought his arms down and pressed the palmsof his hands against the wall. They were white hands, sickly whitehands that had never seen the sun, so white they stood out garishlyagainst the dull cream wall in the dim light of Jem's room.

　　I looked from his hands to his sand-stained khaki pants; my eyestraveled up his thin frame to his torn denim shirt. His face was aswhite as his hands, but for a shadow on his jutting chin. His cheekswere thin to hollowness; his mouth was wide; there were shallow,almost delicate indentations at his temples, and his gray eyes were socolorless I thought he was blind. His hair was dead and thin, almostfeathery on top of his head.

　　When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasysweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. Astrange small spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrapeslate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained fromhis face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's imageblurred with my sudden tears.

　　"Hey, Boo," I said.

　　30"Mr. Arthur, honey," said Atticus, gently correcting me. "JeanLouise, this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you."If Atticus could blandly introduce me to Boo Radley at a time likethis, well- that was Atticus.

　　Boo saw me run instinctively to the bed where Jem was sleeping,for the same shy smile crept across his face. Hot withembarrassment, I tried to cover up by covering Jem up.

　　"Ah-ah, don't touch him," Atticus said.

　　Mr. Heck Tate sat looking intently at Boo through his horn-rimmedglasses. He was about to speak when Dr. Reynolds came down the hall.

　　"Everybody out," he said, as he came in the door. "Evenin',Arthur, didn't notice you the first time I was here."Dr. Reynolds's voice was as breezy as his step, as though he hadsaid it every evening of his life, an announcement that astounded meeven more than being in the same room with Boo Radley. Of course…even Boo Radley got sick sometimes, I thought. But on the other hand Iwasn't sure.

　　Dr. Reynolds was carrying a big package wrapped in newspaper. He putit down on Jem's desk and took off his coat. "You're quite satisfiedhe's alive, now? Tell you how I knew. When I tried to examine him hekicked me. Had to put him out good and proper to touch him. Soscat," he said to me.

　　"Er-" said Atticus, glancing at Boo. "Heck, let's go out on thefront porch. There are plenty of chairs out there, and it's still warmenough."I wondered why Atticus was inviting us to the front porch instead ofthe livingroom, then I understood. The livingroom lights wereawfully strong.

　　We filed out, first Mr. Tate- Atticus was waiting at the door forhim to go ahead of him. Then he changed his mind and followed Mr.

　　Tate.

　　People have a habit of doing everyday things even under the oddestconditions. I was no exception: "Come along, Mr. Arthur," I heardmyself saying, "you don't know the house real well. I'll just take youto the porch, sir."He looked down at me and nodded.

　　I led him through the hall and past the livingroom.

　　"Won't you have a seat, Mr. Arthur? This rocking-chair's nice andcomfortable."My small fantasy about him was alive again: he would be sitting onthe porch… right pretty spell we're having, isn't it, Mr. Arthur?

　　Yes, a right pretty spell. Feeling slightly unreal, I led him to thechair farthest from Atticus and Mr. Tate. It was in deep shadow. Boowould feel more comfortable in the dark.

　　Atticus was sitting in the swing, and Mr. Tate was in a chair nextto him. The light from the livingroom windows was strong on them. Isat beside Boo.

　　"Well, Heck," Atticus was saying, "I guess the thing to do- goodLord, I'm losing my memory…" Atticus pushed up his glasses andpressed his fingers to his eyes. "Jem's not quite thirteen… no, he'salready thirteen- I can't remember. Anyway, it'll come before countycourt-""What will, Mr. Finch?" Mr. Tate uncrossed his legs and leanedforward.

　　"Of course it was clear-cut self defense, but I'll have to go to theoffice and hunt up-""Mr. Finch, do you think Jem killed Bob Ewell? Do you think that?""You heard what Scout said, there's no doubt about it. She saidJem got up and yanked him off her- he probably got hold of Ewell'sknife somehow in the dark… we'll find out tomorrow.""Mis-ter Finch, hold on," said Mr. Tate. "Jem never stabbed BobEwell."Atticus was silent for a moment. He looked at Mr. Tate as if heappreciated what he said. But Atticus shook his head.

　　"Heck, it's mighty kind of you and I know you're doing it fromthat good heart of yours, but don't start anything like that."Mr. Tate got up and went to the edge of the porch. He spat intothe shrubbery, then thrust his hands into his hip pockets and facedAtticus. "Like what?" he said.

　　"I'm sorry if I spoke sharply, Heck," Atticus said simply, "butnobody's hushing this up. I don't live that way.""Nobody's gonna hush anything up, Mr. Finch."Mr. Tate's voice was quiet, but his boots were planted so solidly onthe porch floorboards it seemed that they grew there. A curiouscontest, the nature of which eluded me, was developing between myfather and the sheriff.

　　It was Atticus's turn to get up and go to the edge of the porch.

　　He said, "H'rm," and spat dryly into the yard. He put his hands in hispockets and faced Mr. Tate.

　　"Heck, you haven't said it, but I know what you're thinking. Thankyou for it. Jean Louise-" he turned to me. "You said Jem yanked Mr.

　　Ewell off you?""Yes sir, that's what I thought… I-""See there, Heck? Thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I don'twant my boy starting out with something like this over his head.

　　Best way to clear the air is to have it all out in the open. Let thecounty come and bring sandwiches. I don't want him growing up with awhisper about him, I don't want anybody saying, 'Jem Finch… hisdaddy paid a mint to get him out of that.' Sooner we get this overwith the better.""Mr. Finch," Mr. Tate said stolidly, "Bob Ewell fell on his knife.

　　He killed himself."Atticus walked to the corner of the porch. He looked at the wisteriavine. In his own way, I thought, each was as stubborn as the other.

　　I wondered who would give in first. Atticus's stubbornness was quietand rarely evident, but in some ways he was as set as the Cunninghams.

　　Mr. Tate's was unschooled and blunt, but it was equal to my father's.

　　"Heck," Atticus's back was turned. "If this thing's hushed upit'll be a simple denial to Jem of the way I've tried to raise him.

　　Sometimes I think I'm a total failure as a parent, but I'm all they'vegot. Before Jem looks at anyone else he looks at me, and I've tried tolive so I can look squarely back at him… if I connived atsomething like this, frankly I couldn't meet his eye, and the day Ican't do that I'll know I've lost him. I don't want to lose him andScout, because they're all I've got.""Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate was still planted to the floorboards. "BobEwell fell on his knife. I can prove it."Atticus wheeled around. His hands dug into his pockets. "Heck, can'tyou even try to see it my way? You've got children of your own, butI'm older than you. When mine are grown I'll be an old man if I'mstill around, but right now I'm- if they don't trust me they won'ttrust anybody. Jem and Scout know what happened. If they hear of mesaying downtown something different happened- Heck, I won't havethem any more. I can't live one way in town and another way in myhome."Mr. Tate rocked on his heels and said patiently, "He'd flung Jemdown, he stumbled over a root under that tree and- look, I can showyou."Mr. Tate reached in his side pocket and withdrew a longswitchblade knife. As he did so, Dr. Reynolds came to the door. "Theson- deceased's under that tree, doctor, just inside the schoolyard.

　　Got a flashlight? Better have this one.""I can ease around and turn my car lights on," said Dr. Reynolds,but he took Mr. Tate's flashlight. "Jem's all right. He won't wakeup tonight, I hope, so don't worry. That the knife that killed him,Heck?""No sir, still in him. Looked like a kitchen knife from thehandle. Ken oughta be there with the hearse by now, doctor, 'night."Mr. Tate flicked open the knife. "It was like this," he said. Heheld the knife and pretended to stumble; as he leaned forward his leftarm went down in front of him. "See there? Stabbed himself throughthat soft stuff between his ribs. His whole weight drove it in."Mr. Tate closed the knife and jammed it back in his pocket. "Scoutis eight years old," he said. "She was too scared to know exactly whatwent on.""You'd be surprised," Atticus said grimly.

　　"I'm not sayin' she made it up, I'm sayin' she was too scared toknow exactly what happened. It was mighty dark out there, black asink. 'd take somebody mighty used to the dark to make a competentwitness…""I won't have it," Atticus said softly.

　　"God damn it, I'm not thinking of Jem!"Mr. Tate's boot hit the floorboards so hard the lights in MissMaudie's bedroom went on. Miss Stephanie Crawford's lights went on.

　　Atticus and Mr. Tate looked across the street, then at each other.

　　They waited.

　　When Mr. Tate spoke again his voice was barely audible. "Mr.

　　Finch, I hate to fight you when you're like this. You've been undera strain tonight no man should ever have to go through. Why youain't in the bed from it I don't know, but I do know that for once youhaven't been able to put two and two together, and we've got to settlethis tonight because tomorrow'll be too late. Bob Ewell's got akitchen knife in his craw."Mr. Tate added that Atticus wasn't going to stand there and maintainthat any boy Jem's size with a busted arm had fight enough left in himto tackle and kill a grown man in the pitch dark.

　　"Heck," said Atticus abruptly, "that was a switchblade you werewaving. Where'd you get it?""Took it off a drunk man," Mr. Tate answered coolly.

　　I was trying to remember. Mr. Ewell was on me… then he wentdown… Jem must have gotten up. At least I thought…"Heck?""I said I took it off a drunk man downtown tonight. Ewell probablyfound that kitchen knife in the dump somewhere. Honed it down andbided his time… just bided his time."Atticus made his way to the swing and sat down. His hands dangledlimply between his knees. He was looking at the floor. He had movedwith the same slowness that night in front of the jail, when I thoughtit took him forever to fold his newspaper and toss it in his chair.

　　Mr. Tate clumped softly around the porch. "It ain't your decision,Mr. Finch, it's all mine. It's my decision and my responsibility.

　　For once, if you don't see it my way, there's not much you can doabout it. If you wanta try, I'll call you a liar to your face. Yourboy never stabbed Bob Ewell," he said slowly, "didn't come near a mileof it and now you know it. All he wanted to do was get him and hissister safely home."Mr. Tate stopped pacing. He stopped in front of Atticus, and hisback was to us. "I'm not a very good man, sir, but I am sheriff ofMaycomb County. Lived in this town all my life an' I'm goin' onforty-three years old. Know everything that's happened here sincebefore I was born. There's a black boy dead for no reason, and the manresponsible for it's dead. Let the dead bury the dead this time, Mr.

　　Finch. Let the dead bury the dead."Mr. Tate went to the swing and picked up his hat. It was lyingbeside Atticus. Mr. Tate pushed back his hair and put his hat on.

　　"I never heard tell that it's against the law for a citizen to dohis utmost to prevent a crime from being committed, which is exactlywhat he did, but maybe you'll say it's my duty to tell the town allabout it and not hush it up. Know what'd happen then? All the ladiesin Maycomb includin' my wife'd be knocking on his door bringingangel food cakes. To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one manwho's done you and this town a great service an' draggin' him with hisshy ways into the limelight- to me, that's a sin. It's a sin and I'mnot about to have it on my head. If it was any other man, it'd bedifferent. But not this man, Mr. Finch."Mr. Tate was trying to dig a hole in the floor with the toe of hisboot. He pulled his nose, then he massaged his left arm. "I may not bemuch, Mr. Finch, but I'm still sheriff of Maycomb County and Bob Ewellfell on his knife. Good night, sir."Mr. Tate stamped off the porch and strode across the front yard. Hiscar door slammed and he drove away.

　　Atticus sat looking at the floor for a long time. Finally heraised his head. "Scout," he said, "Mr. Ewell fell on his knife. Canyou possibly understand?"Atticus looked like he needed cheering up. I ran to him and huggedhim and kissed him with all my might. "Yes sir, I understand," Ireassured him. "Mr. Tate was right."Atticus disengaged himself and looked at me. "What do you mean?""Well, it'd be sort of like shootin' a mockingbird, wouldn't it?"Atticus put his face in my hair and rubbed it. When he got up andwalked across the porch into the shadows, his youthful step hadreturned. Before he went inside the house, he stopped in front ofBoo Radley. "Thank you for my children, Arthur," he said.

　　31When Boo Radley shuffled to his feet, light from the livingroomwindows glistened on his forehead. Every move he made was uncertain,as if he were not sure his hands and feet could make proper contactwith the things he touched. He coughed his dreadful raling cough,and was so shaken he had to sit down again. His hand searched forhis hip pocket, and he pulled out a handkerchief. He coughed intoit, then he wiped his forehead.

　　Having been so accustomed to his absence, I found it incredible thathe had been sitting beside me all this time, present. He had notmade a sound.

　　Once more, he got to his feet. He turned to me and nodded toward thefront door.

　　"You'd like to say good night to Jem, wouldn't you, Mr. Arthur? Comeright in."I led him down the hall. Aunt Alexandra was sitting by Jem's bed.

　　"Come in, Arthur," she said. "He's still asleep. Dr. Reynolds gave hima heavy sedative. Jean Louise, is your father in the livingroom?""Yes ma'am, I think so.""I'll just go speak to him a minute. Dr. Reynolds left some…"her voice trailed away.

　　Boo had drifted to a corner of the room, where he stood with hischin up, peering from a distance at Jem. I took him by the hand, ahand surprisingly warm for its whiteness. I tugged him a little, andhe allowed me to lead him to Jem's bed.

　　Dr. Reynolds had made a tent-like arrangement over Jem's arm, tokeep the cover off, I guess, and Boo leaned forward and looked overit. An expression of timid curiosity was on his face, as though he hadnever seen a boy before. His mouth was slightly open, and he looked atJem from head to foot. Boo's hand came up, but he let it drop to hisside.

　　"You can pet him, Mr. Arthur, he's asleep. You couldn't if he wasawake, though, he wouldn't let you…" I found myself explaining.

　　"Go ahead."Boo's hand hovered over Jem's head.

　　"Go on, sir, he's asleep."His hand came down lightly on Jem's hair.

　　I was beginning to learn his body English. His hand tightened onmine and he indicated that he wanted to leave.

　　I led him to the front porch, where his uneasy steps halted. Hewas still holding my hand and he gave no sign of letting me go.

　　"Will you take me home?"He almost whispered it, in the voice of a child afraid of the dark.

　　I put my foot on the top step and stopped. I would lead himthrough our house, but I would never lead him home.

　　"Mr. Arthur, bend your arm down here, like that. That's right, sir."I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm.

　　He had to stoop a little to accommodate me, but if Miss StephanieCrawford was watching from her upstairs window, she would see ArthurRadley escorting me down the sidewalk, as any gentleman would do.

　　We came to the street light on the corner, and I wondered how manytimes Dill had stood there hugging the fat pole, watching, waiting,hoping. I wondered how many times Jem and I had made this journey, butI entered the Radley front gate for the second time in my life. Booand I walked up the steps to the porch. His fingers found the frontdoorknob. He gently released my hand, opened the door, went inside,and shut the door behind him. I never saw him again.

　　Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and littlethings in between. Boo was our neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls,a broken watch and chain, a pair of good-luck pennies, and ourlives. But neighbors give in return. We never put back into the treewhat we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad.

　　I turned to go home. Street lights winked down the street all theway to town. I had never seen our neighborhood from this angle.

　　There were Miss Maudie's, Miss Stephanie's- there was our house, Icould see the porch swing- Miss Rachel's house was beyond us,plainly visible. I could even see Mrs. Dubose's.

　　I looked behind me. To the left of the brown door was a longshuttered window. I walked to it, stood in front of it, and turnedaround. In daylight, I thought, you could see to the postofficecorner.

　　Daylight… in my mind, the night faded. It was daytime and theneighborhood was busy. Miss Stephanie Crawford crossed the street totell the latest to Miss Rachel. Miss Maudie bent over her azaleas.

　　It was summertime, and two children scampered down the sidewalk towarda man approaching in the distance. The man waved, and the childrenraced each other to him.

　　It was still summertime, and the children came closer. A boy trudgeddown the sidewalk dragging a fishingpole behind him. A man stoodwaiting with his hands on his hips. Summertime, and his childrenplayed in the front yard with their friend, enacting a strangelittle drama of their own invention.

　　It was fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk in front ofMrs. Dubose's. The boy helped his sister to her feet, and they madetheir way home. Fall, and his children trotted to and fro around thecorner, the day's woes and triumphs on their faces. They stopped at anoak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive.

　　Winter, and his children shivered at the front gate, silhouettedagainst a blazing house. Winter, and a man walked into the street,dropped his glasses, and shot a dog.

　　Summer, and he watched his children's heart break. Autumn again, andBoo's children needed him.

　　Atticus was right. One time he said you never really know a manuntil you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. Just standing onthe Radley porch was enough.

　　The street lights were fuzzy from the fine rain that was falling. AsI made my way home, I felt very old, but when I looked at the tip ofmy nose I could see fine misty beads, but looking cross-eyed made medizzy so I quit. As I made my way home, I thought what a thing to tellJem tomorrow. He'd be so mad he missed it he wouldn't speak to mefor days. As I made my way home, I thought Jem and I would get grownbut there wasn't much else left for us to learn, except possiblyalgebra.

　　I ran up the steps and into the house. Aunt Alexandra had gone tobed, and Atticus's room was dark. I would see if Jem might bereviving. Atticus was in Jem's room, sitting by his bed. He wasreading a book.

　　"Is Jem awake yet?""Sleeping peacefully. He won't be awake until morning.""Oh. Are you sittin' up with him?""Just for an hour or so. Go to bed, Scout. You've had a long day.""Well, I think I'll stay with you for a while.""Suit yourself," said Atticus. It must have been after midnight, andI was puzzled by his amiable acquiescence. He was shrewder than I,however: the moment I sat down I began to feel sleepy.

　　"Whatcha readin'?" I asked.

　　Atticus turned the book over. "Something of Jem's. Called TheGray Ghost."I was suddenly awake. "Why'd you get that one?""Honey, I don't know. Just picked it up. One of the few things Ihaven't read," he said pointedly.

　　"Read it out loud, please, Atticus. It's real scary.""No," he said. "You've had enough scaring for a while. This is too-""Atticus, I wasn't scared."He raised his eyebrows, and I protested: "Leastways not till Istarted telling Mr. Tate about it. Jem wasn't scared. Asked him and hesaid he wasn't. Besides, nothin's real scary except in books."Atticus opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. Hetook his thumb from the middle of the book and turned back to thefirst page. I moved over and leaned my head against his knee.

　　"H'rm," he said. "The Gray Ghost, by Seckatary Hawkins. ChapterOne…"I willed myself to stay awake, but the rain was so soft and the roomwas so warm and his voice was so deep and his knee was so snug thatI slept.

　　Seconds later, it seemed, his shoe was gently nudging my ribs. Helifted me to my feet and walked me to my room. "Heard every word yousaid," I muttered. "…wasn't sleep at all, 's about a ship an'

　　Three-Fingered Fred 'n' Stoner's Boy…"He unhooked my overalls, leaned me against him, and pulled them off.

　　He held me up with one hand and reached for my pajamas with the other.

　　"Yeah, an' they all thought it was Stoner's Boy messin' up theirclubhouse an' throwin' ink all over it an'…"He guided me to the bed and sat me down. He lifted my legs and putme under the cover.

　　"An' they chased him 'n' never could catch him 'cause they didn'tknow what he looked like, an' Atticus, when they finally saw him,why he hadn't done any of those things… Atticus, he was realnice…"His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking itaround me.

　　"Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them."He turned out the light and went into Jem's room. He would bethere all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in themorning.

　　THE END