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Aunt
Alexandra
’
s
theory
had
something
behind
it
,
though
.
Maycomb
was
an
ancient
town
.
It
was
twenty
miles
east
of
Finch
’
s
Landing
,
awkwardly
inland
for
such
an
old
town
.
But
Maycomb
would
have
been
closer
to
the
river
had
it
not
been
for
the
nimble
-
wittedness
of
one
Sinkfield
,
who
in
the
dawn
of
history
operated
an
inn
where
two
pig
-
trails
met
,
the
only
tavern
in
the
territory
.
Sinkfield
,
no
patriot
,
served
and
supplied
ammunition
to
Indians
and
settlers
alike
,
neither
knowing
or
caring
whether
he
was
a
part
of
the
Alabama
Territory
or
the
Creek
Nation
so
long
as
business
was
good
.
Business
was
excellent
when
Governor
William
Wyatt
Bibb
,
with
a
view
to
promoting
the
newly
created
county
’
s
domestic
tranquility
,
dispatched
a
team
of
surveyors
to
locate
its
exact
center
and
there
establish
its
seat
of
government
.
The
surveyors
,
Sinkfield
’
s
guests
,
told
their
host
that
he
was
in
the
territorial
confines
of
Maycomb
County
,
and
showed
him
the
probable
spot
where
the
county
seat
would
be
built
.
Had
not
Sinkfield
made
a
bold
stroke
to
preserve
his
holdings
,
Maycomb
would
have
sat
in
the
middle
of
Winston
Swamp
,
a
place
totally
devoid
of
interest
.
Instead
,
Maycomb
grew
and
sprawled
out
from
its
hub
,
Sinkfield
’
s
Tavern
,
because
Sinkfield
reduced
his
guests
to
myopic
drunkenness
one
evening
,
induced
them
to
bring
forward
their
maps
and
charts
,
lop
off
a
little
here
,
add
a
bit
there
,
and
adjust
the
center
of
the
county
to
meet
his
requirements
.
He
sent
them
packing
next
day
armed
with
their
charts
and
five
quarts
of
shinny
in
their
saddlebags
—
two
apiece
and
one
for
the
Governor
.
Because
its
primary
reason
for
existence
was
government
,
Maycomb
was
spared
the
grubbiness
that
distinguished
most
Alabama
towns
its
size
.
In
the
beginning
its
buildings
were
solid
,
its
courthouse
proud
,
its
streets
graciously
wide
.
Maycomb
’
s
proportion
of
professional
people
ran
high
:
one
went
there
to
have
his
teeth
pulled
,
his
wagon
fixed
,
his
heart
listened
to
,
his
money
deposited
,
his
soul
saved
,
his
mules
vetted
.
But
the
ultimate
wisdom
of
Sinkfield
’
s
maneuver
is
open
to
question
.
He
placed
the
young
town
too
far
away
from
the
only
kind
of
public
transportation
in
those
days
—
river
-
boat
—
and
it
took
a
man
from
the
north
end
of
the
county
two
days
to
travel
to
Maycomb
for
store
-
bought
goods
.
As
a
result
the
town
remained
the
same
size
for
a
hundred
years
,
an
island
in
a
patchwork
sea
of
cottonfields
and
timberland
.
Although
Maycomb
was
ignored
during
the
War
Between
the
States
,
Reconstruction
rule
and
economic
ruin
forced
the
town
to
grow
.
It
grew
inward
.
New
people
so
rarely
settled
there
,
the
same
families
married
the
same
families
until
the
members
of
the
community
looked
faintly
alike
.
Occasionally
someone
would
return
from
Montgomery
or
Mobile
with
an
outsider
,
but
the
result
caused
only
a
ripple
in
the
quiet
stream
of
family
resemblance
.
Things
were
more
or
less
the
same
during
my
early
years
.
There
was
indeed
a
caste
system
in
Maycomb
,
but
to
my
mind
it
worked
this
way
:
the
older
citizens
,
the
present
generation
of
people
who
had
lived
side
by
side
for
years
and
years
,
were
utterly
predictable
to
one
another
:
they
took
for
granted
attitudes
,
character
shadings
,
even
gestures
,
as
having
been
repeated
in
each
generation
and
refined
by
time
.
Thus
the
dicta
No
Crawford
Minds
His
Own
Business
,
Every
Third
Merriweather
Is
Morbid
,
The
Truth
Is
Not
in
the
Delafields
,
All
the
Bufords
Walk
Like
That
,
were
simply
guides
to
daily
living
:
never
take
a
check
from
a
Delafield
without
a
discreet
call
to
the
bank
;
Miss
Maudie
Atkinson
’
s
shoulder
stoops
because
she
was
a
Buford
;
if
Mrs
.
Grace
Merriweather
sips
gin
out
of
Lydia
E
.
Pinkham
bottles
it
’
s
nothing
unusual
—
her
mother
did
the
same
.
Aunt
Alexandra
fitted
into
the
world
of
Maycomb
like
a
hand
into
a
glove
,
but
never
into
the
world
of
Jem
and
me
.
I
so
often
wondered
how
she
could
be
Atticus
’
s
and
Uncle
Jack
’
s
sister
that
I
revived
half
-
remembered
tales
of
changelings
and
mandrake
roots
that
Jem
had
spun
long
ago
.
These
were
abstract
speculations
for
the
first
month
of
her
stay
,
as
she
had
little
to
say
to
Jem
or
me
,
and
we
saw
her
only
at
mealtimes
and
at
night
before
we
went
to
bed
.
It
was
summer
and
we
were
outdoors
.
Of
course
some
afternoons
when
I
would
run
inside
for
a
drink
of
water
,
I
would
find
the
livingroom
overrun
with
Maycomb
ladies
,
sipping
,
whispering
,
fanning
,
and
I
would
be
called
:
"
Jean
Louise
,
come
speak
to
these
ladies
.
"
When
I
appeared
in
the
doorway
,
Aunty
would
look
as
if
she
regretted
her
request
;
I
was
usually
mud
-
splashed
or
covered
with
sand
.
