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With
this
in
mind
,
I
faced
Cecil
Jacobs
in
the
schoolyard
next
day
:
"
You
gonna
take
that
back
,
boy
?
"
"
You
gotta
make
me
first
!
"
he
yelled
.
"
My
folks
said
your
daddy
was
a
disgrace
an
’
that
nigger
oughta
hang
from
the
water
-
tank
!
"
I
drew
a
bead
on
him
,
remembered
what
Atticus
had
said
,
then
dropped
my
fists
and
walked
away
,
"
Scout
’
s
a
cow
—
ward
!
"
ringing
in
my
ears
.
It
was
the
first
time
I
ever
walked
away
from
a
fight
.
Somehow
,
if
I
fought
Cecil
I
would
let
Atticus
down
.
Atticus
so
rarely
asked
Jem
and
me
to
do
something
for
him
,
I
could
take
being
called
a
coward
for
him
.
I
felt
extremely
noble
for
having
remembered
,
and
remained
noble
for
three
weeks
.
Then
Christmas
came
and
disaster
struck
.
Jem
and
I
viewed
Christmas
with
mixed
feelings
.
The
good
side
was
the
tree
and
Uncle
Jack
Finch
.
Every
Christmas
Eve
day
we
met
Uncle
Jack
at
Maycomb
Junction
,
and
he
would
spend
a
week
with
us
.
A
flip
of
the
coin
revealed
the
uncompromising
lineaments
of
Aunt
Alexandra
and
Francis
.
I
suppose
I
should
include
Uncle
Jimmy
,
Aunt
Alexandra
’
s
husband
,
but
as
he
never
spoke
a
word
to
me
in
my
life
except
to
say
,
"
Get
off
the
fence
,
"
once
,
I
never
saw
any
reason
to
take
notice
of
him
.
Neither
did
Aunt
Alexandra
.
Long
ago
,
in
a
burst
of
friendliness
,
Aunty
and
Uncle
Jimmy
produced
a
son
named
Henry
,
who
left
home
as
soon
as
was
humanly
possible
,
married
,
and
produced
Francis
.
Henry
and
his
wife
deposited
Francis
at
his
grandparents
’
every
Christmas
,
then
pursued
their
own
pleasures
.
No
amount
of
sighing
could
induce
Atticus
to
let
us
spend
Christmas
day
at
home
.
We
went
to
Finch
’
s
Landing
every
Christmas
in
my
memory
.
The
fact
that
Aunty
was
a
good
cook
was
some
compensation
for
being
forced
to
spend
a
religious
holiday
with
Francis
Hancock
.
He
was
a
year
older
than
I
,
and
I
avoided
him
on
principle
:
he
enjoyed
everything
I
disapproved
of
,
and
disliked
my
ingenuous
diversions
.
Aunt
Alexandra
was
Atticus
’
s
sister
,
but
when
Jem
told
me
about
changelings
and
siblings
,
I
decided
that
she
had
been
swapped
at
birth
,
that
my
grandparents
had
perhaps
received
a
Crawford
instead
of
a
Finch
.
Had
I
ever
harbored
the
mystical
notions
about
mountains
that
seem
to
obsess
lawyers
and
judges
,
Aunt
Alexandra
would
have
been
analogous
to
Mount
Everest
:
throughout
my
early
life
,
she
was
cold
and
there
.
