Scout, you’ll get in trouble if you go around saying things like that. You want to grow 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 the two long packages for Jem and me.
Next morning Jem and I dived for them: they were from Atticus, who had written Uncle Jack to get them for us, and they were what we had asked for.
“Don’t point them in the house,” said Atticus, when Jem aimed at a picture 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 had already begun to think of shooting Francis)
and said if we made one false move he’d take them away from us for good.
Finch’s Landing consisted of three hundred and sixty-six steps down a high bluff and ending in a jetty.
Farther down stream, beyond the bluff, were traces of an old cotton landing,
where Finch Negroes had loaded bales and produce, unloaded blocks of ice, flour and sugar, farm equipment, and feminine apparel.
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