“Arthur Radley just stays in the house, that’s all,” said Miss Maudie.
“Wouldn’t you stay in the house if you didn’t want to come out?”
“Yessum, but I’d wanta come out. Why doesn’t he?” Miss Maudie’s eyes narrowed.
“You know that story as well as I do.” “I never heard why, though. Nobody ever told me why.”
Miss Maudie settled her bridgework. “You know old Mr. Radley was a foot- washing Baptist-”
“That’s what you are, ain’t it?” “My shell’s not that hard, child. I’m just a Baptist.”
“Don’t you all believe in foot-washing?” “We do. At home in the bathtub.”
“But we can’t have communion with you all-” Apparently deciding that it was easier to define primitive baptistry
than closed communion, Miss Maudie said: “Foot-washers believe anything that’s pleasure is a sin.
Did you know some of ‘em came out of the woods one Saturday and passed by this place
and told me me and my flowers were going to hell?“Your flowers, too?”
“Yes ma’am. They’d burn right with me. They thought I spent too much time in God’s outdoors
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