As we ate, we sensed that this was Miss Maudie’s way of saying that as far as she was concerned, nothing had changed.
She sat quietly in a kitchen chair, watching us. Suddenly she spoke: “Don’t fret, Jem. Things are never as bad as they seem.”
Indoors, when Miss Maudie wanted to say something lengthy she spread her fingers on her knees and settled her bridgework. This she did, and we waited.
“I simply want to tell you that there are some men in this world
who were born to do our unpleasant jobs for us. Your father’s one of them.” “Oh,” said Jem. “Well.”
“Don’t you oh well me, sir,” Miss Maudie replied, recognizing Jem’s fatalistic noises,
you are not old enough to appreciate what I said.
Jem was staring at his half-eaten cake. “It’s like bein‘ a caterpillar in a cocoon, that’s what it is,” he said.
“Like somethin’ asleep wrapped up in a warm place.
I always thought Maycomb folks were the best folks in the world, least that’s what they seemed like.
“We’re the safest folks in the world,” said Miss Maudie.
“We’re so rarely called on to be Christians, but when we are, we’ve got men like Atticus to go for us.”
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