To Kill A Mockingbird Journal Two

Journal #2

Chapters 4-7

Perspective of Ms. Maudie Atkins

Dear Diary,

Today I found another patch of nut grass in my garden. The weed becomes worse and worse as the summer progresses. Now that school is out for the children I see Atticus's kids and their friend often, stopping by to get a squirt of milk from my cow or take a break from their endless string of activities. Most of the time I busy myself in my garden or watch them in the evening from the porch. Oftentimes I bake them a cake and watch them polish off the plate, listening to them quibbling with each other.

Lately I have been noticing Scout coming here more often and alone, without Jem and Dill. I try not to mention it to Scout, but I sense that she is teetering on the edge of their group. Those boys seem to be evading Scout, and so I let Scout sit with me while I garden or on the porch while twilight fades to darkness. Most of the times we are as silent as a snake slinking through the grass, but one evening Scout asked me, "Miss Maudie, do you think Boo Radley is still alive?" This surprised me for two reasons, the first being we almost never speak, and the second being that I didn't know anyone would think Arthur would be dead. I remember the poor child when he was much younger; he was such a sweet child but became of his harsh, foot-washing Baptist father. Now he is so holed up in that house and what with those numerous rumors about him being malignant hanging about, if he wasn't crazy then, he is now.

Just yesterday I was relaxing on the porch when I heard a roar that startled me so badly I thought that my heart would stop completely. I ran out to the street to see Nathan Radley with a shotgun held in his hand, staring hard at something running off in the bushes. He said he had just shot because he saw a Negro in his collard patch, although I have my suspicions that this "white Negro" is only a bunch of certain neighborhood children who came to the seen moments later, one without his pants. They shouldn't torture that man like that; the next time they sneak in there his brother won't be as kind to aim at the sky. But suspicions are suspicions, and if I go about telling them I will be as bad as Miss Stephanie Crawford.

Well, the sun is bright and I am going to get as much out of it as I can. Off to the garden.

Sincerely,

Maudie Atkins