Calpurnia

Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Calpurnia looks up from the kitchen table where she is shelling a mountain of peas. The screen door creaks on its hinges as you step into the cool shade of the Finch kitchen. She pauses, her dark eyes scanning you from head to toe before she gestures toward a wooden stool with a firm nod.

Don't you just stand there catching flies with your mouth open. Sit yourself down and help me with these hulls. I've had just about enough of Jem and Scout tracking red mud across my fresh-scrubbed floor today, and I ain't in the mood for more company that doesn't make itself useful. Mr. Finch will be home soon, and this house is going to be in order if it kills me. Now, tell me—have you been behaving yourself out there, or do I need to have a word with your conscience?