moment she said it I knew she had made a serious mistake. The boy's
condescension 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 start
somethin', and there's some little folks here."
He was among the most diminutive of men, but when Burris Ewell
turned 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 at
you. Now go home."
Burris seemed to be afraid of a child half his height, and Miss
Caroline took advantage of his indecision: "Burris, go home. If you
don'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 to
ye! Ain't no snot-nosed slut of a schoolteacher ever born c'n make
me do nothin'! You ain't makin' me go nowhere, missus. You just
remember that, you ain't makin' me go nowhere!"
He waited until he was sure she was crying, then he shuffled out
of the building.
Soon we were clustered around her desk, trying in our various ways
to comfort her. He was a real mean one... below the belt... you
ain'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 this
mornin'....
Miss Caroline smiled, blew her nose, said, "Thank you, darlings,"
dispersed us, opened a book and mystified the first grade with a
long narrative about a toadfrog that lived in a hall.
When I passed the Radley Place for the fourth time that day- twice
at a full gallop- my gloom had deepened to match the house. If the
remainder of the school year were as fraught with drama as the first
day, perhaps it would be mildly entertaining, but the prospect of
spending nine months refraining from reading and writing made me think
of running away.
By late afternoon most of my traveling plans were complete; when Jem
and I raced each other up the sidewalk to meet Atticus coming home
from work, I didn't give him much of a race. It was our habit to run
meet Atticus the moment we saw him round the post office corner in the
distance. Atticus seemed to have forgotten my noontime fall from
grace; he was full of questions about school. My replies were
monosyllabic and he did not press me.
Perhaps Calpurnia sensed that my day had been a grim one: she let me
watch her fix supper. "Shut your eyes and open your mouth and I'll
give you a surprise," she said.
It was not often that she made crackling bread, she said she never
had time, but with both of us at school today had been an easy one for
her. She knew I loved crackling bread.
"I missed you today," she said. "The house got so lonesome 'long
about 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 make
a pan of cracklin' bread, I reckon. You run along now and let me get
supper on the table."
Calpurnia bent down and kissed me. I ran along, wondering what had
come over her. She had wanted to make up with me, that was it. She had
always been too hard on me, she had at last seen the error of her
fractious ways, she was sorry and too stubborn to say so. I was
weary 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 to
the front porch. Atticus followed me.
"Something wrong, Scout?"
I told Atticus I didn't feel very well and didn't think I'd go to
school any more if it was all right with him.
Atticus sat down in the swing and crossed his legs. His fingers
wandered to his watchpocket; he said that was the only way he could
think. He waited in amiable silence, and I sought to reinforce my
position: "You never went to school and you do all right, so I'll just
stay home too. You can teach me like Granddaddy taught you 'n' Uncle
Jack."
"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 for
you 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 you
taught me all wrong, so we can't ever read any more, ever. Please
don't send me back, please sir."
Atticus stood up and walked to the end of the porch. When he
completed 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 never
really understand a person until you consider things from his point of
view-"
"Sir?"
"-until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."
Atticus said I had learned many things today, and Miss Caroline
had learned several things herself. She had learned not to hand
something to a Cunningham, for one thing, but if Walter and I had
put ourselves in her shoes we'd have seen it was an honest mistake
on her part. We could not expect her to learn all Maycomb's ways in
one day, and we could not hold her responsible when she knew no
better.
"I'll be dogged," I said. "I didn't know no better than not to
read to her, and she held me responsible- listen Atticus, I don't have
to go to school!" I was bursting with a sudden thought. "Burris Ewell,
remember? He just goes to school the first day. The truant lady
reckons 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 better
to bend the law a little in special cases. In your case, the law
remains 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 three
generations. None of them had done an honest day's work in his
recollection. He said that some Christmas, when he was getting rid
of the tree, he would take me with him and show me where and how
they lived. They were people, but they lived like animals. "They can
go to school any time they want to, when they show the faintest
symptom of wanting an education," said Atticus. "There are ways of
keeping them in school by force, but it's silly to force people like
the 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 Scout
Finch, are of the common folk. You must obey the law." He said that
the Ewells were members of an exclusive society made up of Ewells.
In certain circumstances the common folk judiciously allowed them
certain privileges by the simple method of becoming blind to some of
the Ewells' activities. They didn't have to go to school, for one
thing. Another thing, Mr. Bob Ewell, Burris's father, was permitted to
hunt and trap out of season.
"Atticus, that's bad," I said. In Maycomb County, hunting out of
season was a misdemeanor at law, a capital felony in the eyes of the
populace.
"It's against the law, all right," said my father, "and it's
certainly bad, but when a man spends his relief checks on green
whiskey his children have a way of crying from hunger pains. I don't
know of any landowner around here who begrudges those children any
game their father can hit."
"Mr. Ewell shouldn't do that-"
"Of course he shouldn't, but he'll never change his ways. Are you
going to take out your disapproval on his children?"
"No sir," I murmured, and made a final stand: "But if I keep on
goin' 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 that
always 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 go
on reading every night just as we always have. Is it a bargain?"
"Yes sir!"
"We'll consider it sealed without the usual formality," Atticus
said, 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 considerable
disapprobation by the more learned authorities."
Jem and I were accustomed to our father's last-will-and-testament
diction, and we were at all times free to interrupt Atticus for a
translation when it was beyond our understanding.
"Huh, sir?"
"I never went to school," he said, "but I have a feeling that if you
tell Miss Caroline we read every night she'll get after me, and I
wouldn't want her after me."
Atticus kept us in fits that evening, gravely reading columns of
print about a man who sat on a flagpole for no discernible reason,
which was reason enough for Jem to spend the following Saturday
aloft in the treehouse. Jem sat from after breakfast until sunset
and would have remained overnight had not Atticus severed his supply
lines. I had spent most of the day climbing up and down, running
errands for him, providing him with literature, nourishment and water,
and was carrying him blankets for the night when Atticus said if I
paid no attention to him, Jem would come down. Atticus was right.
4
The remainder of my schooldays were no more auspicious than the
