that required pants. Aunt Alexandra's vision of my deportment involved
playing with small stoves, tea sets, and wearing the Add-A-Pearl
necklace she gave me when I was born; furthermore, I should be a ray
of sunshine in my father's lonely life. I suggested that one could
be a ray of sunshine in pants just as well, but Aunty said that one
had to behave like a sunbeam, that I was born good but had grown
progressively worse every year. She hurt my feelings and set my
teeth permanently on edge, but when I asked Atticus about it, he
said there were already enough sunbeams in the family and to go on
about 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 had
continued to isolate me long after Jem and Francis graduated to the
big table. I often wondered what she thought I'd do, get up and
throw something? I sometimes thought of asking her if she would let me
sit at the big table with the rest of them just once, I would prove to
her how civilized I could be; after all, I ate at home every day
with 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 to
sit. He also said Aunt Alexandra didn't understand girls much, she'd
never had one.
But her cooking made up for everything: three kinds of meat,
summer vegetables from her pantry shelves; peach pickles, two kinds of
cake and ambrosia constituted a modest Christmas dinner. Afterwards,
the adults made for the livingroom and sat around in a dazed
condition. Jem lay on the floor, and I went to the back yard. "Put
on 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 me
how."
"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 be
careful 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 get
married 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 matter
with him."
"You mean that little runt Grandma says stays with Miss Rachel every
summer?"
"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 Miss
Rachel 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 his
own business, like Grandma says, so it ain't your fault. I guess it
ain't your fault if Uncle Atticus is a nigger-lover besides, but I'm
here 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 all
run wild, but now he's turned out a nigger-lover we'll never be able
to walk the streets of Maycomb agin. He's ruinin' the family, that's
what he's doin'."
Francis rose and sprinted down the catwalk to the old kitchen. At
a 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 to
collar 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. Say
nothing, and as sure as eggs he will become curious and emerge.
Francis appeared at the kitchen door. "You still mad, Jean Louise?" he
asked 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 the
draw. Francis shot back into the kitchen, so I retired to the steps. I
could wait patiently. I had sat there perhaps five minutes when I
heard 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 in
here 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, I
ain'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 out
of 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 out
of sight Francis came out head up and grinning. "Don't you fool with
me," he said.
He jumped into the yard and kept his distance, kicking tufts of
grass, turning around occasionally to smile at me. Jem appeared on the
porch, looked at us, and went away. Francis climbed the mimosa tree,
came down, put his hands in his pockets and strolled around the
yard. "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 and
leave him alone.
"I ain't botherin' you," I said.
Francis looked at me carefully, concluded that I had been
sufficiently subdued, and crooned softly, "Nigger-lover..."
This time, I split my knuckle to the bone on his front teeth. My
left impaired, I sailed in with my right, but not for long. Uncle Jack
pinned my arms to my sides and said, "Stand still!"
Aunt Alexandra ministered to Francis, wiping his tears away with her
handkerchief, rubbing his hair, patting his cheek. Atticus, Jem, and
Uncle 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, "she
called 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 Aunt
Alexandra's. "You know I told you you'd get in trouble if you used
words 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 in
indecision a moment too long: I turned to flee but Uncle Jack was
quicker. I found myself suddenly looking at a tiny ant struggling with
a 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 to
encourage Uncle Jack, more than anything. I ran to Atticus for
comfort, but he said I had it coming and it was high time we went
home. I climbed into the back seat of the car without saying
good-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 was
quiet. When he entered the room I retreated to a corner and turned
my 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'm
disappointed 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 after
what you did, but you don't understand children much."
Uncle Jack put his hands on his hips and looked down at me. "And why
do I not understand children, Miss Jean Louise? Such conduct as
yours required little understanding. It was obstreperous, disorderly
and 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 he
peered up at me from under them. "Proceed," he said.
I took a deep breath. "Well, in the first place you never stopped to
gimme a chance to tell you my side of it- you just lit right into
me. When Jem an' I fuss Atticus doesn't ever just listen to Jem's side
of it, he hears mine too, an' in the second place you told me never to
use words like that except in ex-extreme provocation, and Francis
provocated 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 off
him."
"What did Francis call him?"
"A nigger-lover. I ain't very sure what it means, but the way
