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Maycomb
was
an
old
town
,
but
it
was
a
tired
old
town
when
I
first
knew
it
.
In
rainy
weather
the
streets
turned
to
red
slop
;
grass
grew
on
the
sidewalks
,
the
courthouse
sagged
in
the
square
.
Somehow
,
it
was
hotter
then
:
a
black
dog
suffered
on
a
summer
’
s
day
;
bony
mules
hitched
to
Hoover
carts
flicked
flies
in
the
sweltering
shade
of
the
live
oaks
on
the
square
.
Men
’
s
stiff
collars
wilted
by
nine
in
the
morning
.
Ladies
bathed
before
noon
,
after
their
three
-
o
’
clock
naps
,
and
by
nightfall
were
like
soft
teacakes
with
frostings
of
sweat
and
sweet
talcum
.
People
moved
slowly
then
.
They
ambled
across
the
square
,
shuffled
in
and
out
of
the
stores
around
it
,
took
their
time
about
everything
.
A
day
was
twenty
-
four
hours
long
but
seemed
longer
.
There
was
no
hurry
,
for
there
was
nowhere
to
go
,
nothing
to
buy
and
no
money
to
buy
it
with
,
nothing
to
see
outside
the
boundaries
of
Maycomb
County
.
But
it
was
a
time
of
vague
optimism
for
some
of
the
people
:
Maycomb
County
had
recently
been
told
that
it
had
nothing
to
fear
but
fear
itself
.
We
lived
on
the
main
residential
street
in
town
—
Atticus
,
Jem
and
I
,
plus
Calpurnia
our
cook
.
Jem
and
I
found
our
father
satisfactory
:
he
played
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
and
twice
as
hard
.
She
was
always
ordering
me
out
of
the
kitchen
,
asking
me
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
epic
and
one
-
sided
.
Calpurnia
always
won
,
mainly
because
Atticus
always
took
her
side
.
She
had
been
with
us
ever
since
Jem
was
born
,
and
I
had
felt
her
tyrannical
presence
as
long
as
I
could
remember
.
Our
mother
died
when
I
was
two
,
so
I
never
felt
her
absence
.
She
was
a
Graham
from
Montgomery
;
Atticus
met
her
when
he
was
first
elected
to
the
state
legislature
.
He
was
middle
-
aged
then
,
she
was
fifteen
years
his
junior
.
Jem
was
the
product
of
their
first
year
of
marriage
;
four
years
later
I
was
born
,
and
two
years
later
our
mother
died
from
a
sudden
heart
attack
.
They
said
it
ran
in
her
family
.
I
did
not
miss
her
,
but
I
think
Jem
did
.
He
remembered
her
clearly
,
and
sometimes
in
the
middle
of
a
game
he
would
sigh
at
length
,
then
go
off
and
play
by
himself
behind
the
car
-
house
.
When
he
was
like
that
,
I
knew
better
than
to
bother
him
.
When
I
was
almost
six
and
Jem
was
nearly
ten
,
our
summertime
boundaries
(
within
calling
distance
of
Calpurnia
)
were
Mrs
.
Henry
Lafayette
Dubose
’
s
house
two
doors
to
the
north
of
us
,
and
the
Radley
Place
three
doors
to
the
south
.
We
were
never
tempted
to
break
them
.
The
Radley
Place
was
inhabited
by
an
unknown
entity
the
mere
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
back
yard
,
Jem
and
I
heard
something
next
door
in
Miss
Rachel
Haverford
’
s
collard
patch
.
We
went
to
the
wire
fence
to
see
if
there
was
a
puppy
—
Miss
Rachel
’
s
rat
terrier
was
expecting
—
instead
we
found
someone
sitting
looking
at
us
.
Sitting
down
,
he
wasn
’
t
much
higher
than
the
collards
.
We
stared
at
him
until
he
spoke
:
