Nothing, I reckon. Atticus left us collection.

Calpurnias eyes narrowed and I could tell what was going through her mind. Cal, I said, you know well behave. We havent done anything in church in years.

Calpurnia evidently remembered a rainy Sunday when we were both fatherless and teacherless. Left to its own devices, the class tied Eunice Ann Simpson to a chair and placed her in the furnace room. We forgot her, trooped upstairs to church, and were listening quietly to the sermon when a dreadful banging issued from the radiator pipes, persisting until someone investigated and brought forth Eunice Ann saying she didnt way to play Shadrach any moreJem Finch said she wouldnt get burnt if she had enough faith, but it was hot down there.

Besides, Cal, this isnt the first time Atticus has left us, I protested.

Yeah, but he makes certain your teachers gonna be there. I didnt hear him say this timereckon he forgot it. Calpurnia scratched her head. Suddenly she smiled. Howd you and Mister Jem like to come to church with me tomorrow?

Really?

How bout it? grinned Calpurnia.

If Calpurnia had ever bathed me roughly before, it was nothing compared to her supervision of that Saturday nights routine. She made me soap all over twice, drew fresh water in the tub for each rinse; she stuck my head in the basin and washed it with Octagon soap and castile. She had trusted Jem for years, but that night she invaded his privacy and provoked an outburst: Cant anybody take a bath in this house without the whole family lookin?

Next morning she began earlier than usual, to go over our clothes. When Calpurnia stayed overnight with us she slept on a folding cot in the kitchen; that morning it was covered with our Sunday habiliments. She had put so much starch in my dress it came up like a tent when I sat down. She made me wear a petticoat and she wrapped a pink sash tightly around my waist. She went over my patent-leather shoes with a cold biscuit until she saw her face in them.

Its like we were goin to Mardi Gras, said Jem. Whats all this for, Cal?

I dont want anybody sayin I dont look after my children, she muttered. Mister Jem, you absolutely cant wear that tie with that suit. Its green.

smatter with that?

Suits blue. Cant you tell?

Hee hee, I howled, Jems color blind.

His face flushed angrily, but Calpurnia said, Now you all quit that. Youre gonna go to First Purchase with smiles on your faces.

First Purchase African M.E. Church was in the Quarters outside the southern town limits, across the old sawmill tracks. It was an ancient paint-peeled frame building, the only church in Maycomb with a steeple and bell, called First Purchase because it was paid for from the first earnings of freed slaves. Negroes worshiped in it on Sundays and white men gambled in it on weekdays.

The churchyard was brick-hard clay, as was the cemetery beside it. If someone died during a dry spell, the body was covered with chunks of ice until rain softened the earth. A few graves in the cemetery were marked with crumbling tombstones; newer ones were outlined with brightly colored glass and broken Coca-Cola bottles. Lightning rods guarding some graves denoted dead who rested uneasily; stumps of burned-out candles stood at the heads of infant graves. It was a happy cemetery.

The warm bittersweet smell of clean Negro welcomed us as we entered the churchyardHearts of Love hairdressing mingled with asafoetida, snuff, Hoyts Cologne, Browns Mule, peppermint, and lilac talcum.

When they saw Jem and me with Calpurnia, the men stepped back and took off their hats; the women crossed their arms at their waists, weekday gestures of respectful attention. They parted and made a small pathway to the church door for us. Calpurnia walked between Jem and me, responding to the greetings of her brightly clad neighbors.

What you up to, Miss Cal? said a voice behind us.

Calpurnias hands went to our shoulders and we stopped and looked around: standing in the path behind us was a tall Negro woman. Her weight was on one leg; she rested her left elbow in the curve of her hip, pointing at us with upturned palm. She was bullet-headed with strange almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and an Indian-bow mouth. She seemed seven feet high.

I felt Calpurnias hand dig into my shoulder. What you want, Lula? she asked, in tones I had never heard her use. She spoke quietly, contemptuously.