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           "ForgottotellyoutheotherdaythatbesidesplayingtheJew’sHarp,AtticusFinchwasthedeadestshotinMaycombCountyinhistime."

           "Deadshot..."echoedJem.

           "That’swhatIsaid,JemFinch.Guessyou’llchangeyourtunenow.Theveryidea,didn’tyouknowhisnicknamewasOl’One-Shotwhenhewasaboy?Why,downattheLandingwhenhewascomingup,ifheshotfifteentimesandhitfourteendoveshe’dcomplainaboutwastingammunition."

           "Heneversaidanythingaboutthat,"Jemmuttered.

           "Neversaidanythingaboutit,didhe?"

           "Noma’am."

           "Wonderwhyhenevergoeshuntin’now,"Isaid.

           "MaybeIcantellyou,"saidMissMaudie."Ifyourfather’sanything,he’scivilizedinhisheart.Marksmanship’sagiftofGod,atalent—oh,youhavetopracticetomakeitperfect,butshootin’sdifferentfromplayingthepianoorthelike.IthinkmaybeheputhisgundownwhenherealizedthatGodhadgivenhimanunfairadvantageovermostlivingthings.Iguesshedecidedhewouldn’tshoottillhehadto,andhehadtotoday."

           "Lookslikehe’dbeproudofit,"Isaid.

           "Peopleintheirrightmindsnevertakeprideintheirtalents,"saidMissMaudie.

           WesawZeebodriveup.HetookapitchforkfromthebackofthegarbagetruckandgingerlyliftedTimJohnson.