No amount of sighing could induce Atticus to let us spend Christmas day at home.
We went to Finch’s Landing every Christmas in my memory. The fact that Aunty
was a good cook was some compensation for being forced to spend a religious
holiday with Francis Hancock. He was a year older than I, and I avoided him on
principle: he enjoyed everything I disapproved of, and disliked my ingenuous
diversions.