Jem says I was. He read in a book where I was a Bullfinch instead of a Finch.
Jem says my name’s really Jean Louise Bullfinch, that I got swapped when I was born and I’m really a—”
Miss Caroline apparently thought I was lying. “Let’s not let our imaginations run away with us, dear,” she said.
“Now you tell your father not to teach you any more. It’s best to begin reading with a fresh mind.
You tell him I’ll take over from here and try to undo the 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.
I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers.
In the long hours of church—was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns.
Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me,
as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces.
I could not remember when the lines above Atticus’s moving finger separated into words,
but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day,
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