Unit 3: To Kill a Mockingbird, Chapters 1–11

When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury.

His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh.

When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to his accident.

We were far too old to settle an argument with a fist-fight, so we consulted Atticus.

“Scout yonder’s been readin’ ever since she was born, and she ain’t even started to school yet. You look right puny for goin' on seven.”

“Scout yonder’s been readin’ ever since she was born, and she ain’t even started to school yet. You look right puny for goin' on seven.”

Dill had seen Dracula, a revelation that moved Jem to eye him with the beginning of respect.

As he told us the old tale his blue eyes would lighten and darken; his laugh was sudden and happy; he habitually pulled at a cowlick in the center of his forehead.

As he told us the old tale his blue eyes would lighten and darken; his laugh was sudden and happy; he habitually pulled at a cowlick in the center of his forehead.

Thereafter the summer passed in routine contentment.

I stood on tiptoe, hastily looked around once more, reached into the hole, and withdrew two pieces of chewing gum minus their outer wrappers.

For some reason, my first year of school had wrought a great change in our relationship: Calpurnia’s tyranny, unfairness, and meddling in my business had faded to gentle grumblings of general disapproval.

For some reason, my first year of school had wrought a great change in our relationship: Calpurnia’s tyranny, unfairness, and meddling in my business had faded to gentle grumblings of general disapproval.

On my part, I went to much trouble, sometimes, not to provoke her.

Summer was our best season: it was sleeping on the back screened porch in cots, or trying to sleep in the treehouse; summer was everything good to eat; it was a thousand colors in a parched landscape; but most of all, summer was Dill.

Jem looked around, reached up, and gingerly pocketed a tiny shiny package.

Mrs. Dubose lived two doors up the street from us; neighborhood opinion was unanimous that Mrs. Dubose was the meanest old woman who ever lived.

“What you reckon we oughta do, Jem?”

Plucking an occasional camellia, getting a squirt of hot milk from Miss Maudie Atkinson’s cow on a summer day, helping ourselves to someone’s scuppernongs was part of our ethical culture, but money was different.

These are somebody’s, I know that. See how they’ve been slicked up?

When he gave us our air rifles Atticus wouldn’t teach us to shoot. Uncle Jack instructed us in the rudiments thereof; he said Atticus wasn’t interested in guns.

When we were small, Jem and I confined our activities to the southern neighborhood, but when I was well into the second grade at school and tormenting Boo Radley became passé, the business section of Maycomb drew us frequently up the street past the real property of Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose.

When we were small, Jem and I confined our activities to the southern neighborhood, but when I was well into the second grade at school and tormenting Boo Radley became passé, the business section of Maycomb drew us frequently up the street past the real property of Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose.

If she was on the porch when we passed, we would be raked by her wrathful gaze, subjected to ruthless interrogations regarding our behavior, and given a melancholy prediction on what we would amount to when we grew up, which was always nothing.

If she was on the porch when we passed, we would be raked by her wrathful gaze, subjected to ruthless interrogations regarding our behavior, and given a melancholy prediction on what we would amount to when we grew up, which was always nothing.

Once she heard Jem refer to our father as “Atticus” and her reaction was apoplectic.

I did not remember our mother, but Jem did—he would tell me about her sometimes—and he went livid when Mrs. Dubose shot us this message.