THE CONTUMACY OF SARAH L. WALKER
BY
MIRIAM MICHELSON
Reprinted from _Munsey's Magazine_ of April, 1904 by permission
"THE BOARD will now pass to consideration of the case of Mrs.--Mrs.Walker."
The president looked from the report in front of her to thesuperintendent sitting opposite.
The Rev. Alexander McCaleb rose slowly to his feet.
"I regret exceedingly," he said, "to have to report this case to theboard. I need not say that if it had been possible to convince Mrs.Walker of the error of her ways, no pains or time would have beenspared. But I have done all that I could. Mrs. Walker persists.She--ah!--she flouts all authority, and--ah!--sets such an example ofrebellious conduct that I fear the discipline of the home may be gravelycompromised."
The president knitted her pretty, dark brows. Her hair was white, with asoft, youthful whiteness that haloed her head as if it was a joke of oldTime's. She was new to her office, and was conscious of a criticalatmosphere that subtly underlined the formality of the proceedings--anofficial formality that made the meeting of the lady managers of thisOld People's Home a formidable affair.
"I see no record of any case of disciplining heretofore," she said,troubled. "There is no precedent by which the chair can be----"
"But there are the by-laws," suggested the superintendent. He reachedover to his own desk, and read from a pamphlet that had lain open there:"If any inmate of the home shall persistently and willfully disobey therules, the superintendent shall report such case to the board ofmanagers. If, after full and complete investigation, and a notice tothat effect having been duly served, said inmate shall continue topersist in contumacy, the board is by a majority vote empowered toexpel."
A little hush fell upon the assemblage at this invocation of its dreadpowers.
"It seems rather hard on the old bodies, doesn't it?" the president wasencouraged to remark.
"But it is plainly stated in the by-laws," said the recording secretary,a bright-eyed, business-like matron.
"And dear Mr. McCaleb is so patient and tactful that it is seldomnecessary," remarked the single member of this week's visitingcommittee.
"I thank you, Mrs. Davis." The superintendent bowed in his stateliestmanner. "I do my best--I try always to do my best. Old people aretrying, we all know."
The president looked up from her perusal of the by-laws.
"Suppose we have the old lady in," she said. "Mr. McCaleb, will you sendfor Mrs. Walker?"
The old lady held her head haughtily as she walked into the handsomelyfurnished office. The president, mindful of her official capacity,looked severely upon Mrs. Walker--Sarah Lucinda Walker, according to thecramped signature of the home's register, widow, native of Maine, agedsixty-seven on her entrance into the home five years ago. And Mrs.Walker--a miracle of aged neatness, trim, straight, little, in hersomber black and immaculate cap--looked severely back.
"Be seated, Mrs. Walker," said the president.
"Thank you." Mrs. Walker crossed with a formal "Good morning, ladies,"and took the chair indicated.
"Now, Mr. McCaleb, if you please----" said the president.
The superintendent rose.
"Ladies," he began with a solemnity that made the offender quake within,though outwardly she was calm as the president herself, "it is withpositive pain that I have to report to you the case of Mrs. SarahLucinda Walker. It is now fully three months since I began to labor withher--three months since I warned her of this very thing that has come topass, an investigation by your honorable board. On the 9th ofJanuary"--he glanced methodically at a note-book--"I sent her a copy ofthe by-laws, with the section referring to insubordination underscoredin red ink. On the 23d I made a personal call upon her, and sought toconvince her how impossible it was that such conduct could be tolerated.On February 7th I publicly reprimanded her. On the 13th--five daysago--I informed her that, after considering it prayerfully, I had laidthe matter before your honorable body, and that she should hold herselfin readiness to be summoned before you to meet the following charges:
"First, insubordination; second, breaking Rule VIII of the houseregulations; third, taking food from the table; fourth, disturbingneighbors in early morning; and fifth, defacing the building."
Mr. McCaleb took his seat. The shocked gaze of the board bent itselfupon the criminal. The bad little old lady's far-sighted eyes sweptinsolently past them all and met the president's--twenty years youngerthan her own.
"Do you like birds, ma'am?" she asked, herself in an eager, bird-likeway. And then, without waiting for an answer, she went on: "I love'em--anything that's got wings. Old Cap'n Walker used to say, 'SaryLucindy, they was a moughty fine ornithologist spiled when God A'mightymade you a woman 'stead of a man.' He was a free-spoken man, Cap'nWalker, not so pious-mouthed as some, but he had charity in his soul,which is more than some others has."
She swept a superbly disdainful look toward the Rev. McCaleb. Therecording secretary tapped reprovingly with her pencil, but thepresident only listened.
"Now, ma'am, we ain't paupers, we old folks. Every one of us, as youknow, has paid our thousand dollars in. An' we ain't bad children asneeds disciplinin'; an' they's no use treatin' grandmothers an'great-grandmothers as though they was. It's in me to love birds, an' no'mount of rules and regulations is goin' to change me. My canary birddied the same year Cap'n Walker saved every other soul on board hisship and went down alone to the bottom with her. Since then I've sort o'adopted the sparrers. Why, haven't I spent every afternoon through thesummer out in the park a-feedin' them my lunch? An' now that winter'scome, d'ye think I'd have the face to desert them?
"'Not one of them is forgotten before God'--do you remember, ma'am? Oneof 'em seemed to be in the early winter. It was before my rheumatism gotso bad. I was out in the park the afternoon the first snow fell, an'this poor little crittur with a wing broke kep' a trailin' an' chirpin'an' scuttlin' in front o' me. It'd fell out o' the nest; hardly coveredwith feathers, it was. I picked it up an' carried it to my room in myapron. Poor little mite--how it fluttered an' struggled! I kep' itovernight in my spool-box. In the mornin' I fed it; by noon the sun comeout, an' I let it out on the window-sill, where I keep my house plants;just a bit o' musk--the cap'n liked musk--an' a pot o' bergamot. Do youknow, ma'am, that little thing was that contented by the end of the weekthat I could leave the windows open an' nary a wing's stroke away wouldit go? That was in December, 'fore it got to be known that I kep' a birdin my room. That mild spell we had 'fore Christmas it did fly away onemorning, but at sundown there it was back again; an' when it came on tosnow that night I felt same's I used to 'tween voyages, when I couldhear how the ocean'd get lashed to a fury, an' Cap'n Walker'd be fastasleep safe beside me.
"Of course it was a pity that when the bird came back it showed othersthe way--but wasn't it cute of it, ma'am? An' wasn't it just like a loto' children hangin' 'round at maple-syrup time? They did make a clatteran' a racket in the early mornin' when I wouldn't be up an' they'd beready for breakfast. But wasn't it for all the world like children withempty little stummicks an' chatterin' tongues? When Mis' Pearsoncomplained of me an' the noise, I didn't take it kind of her. Take foodfrom the table? Course I did. But it was my own lunch, that I'd a rightto go hungry for ef I wanted to, an' nobody's affair.
"But I tell you, ma'am, one day--it was that day Mr. McCaleb sent methat printed notice, an' everybody on my floor see it comin' an' knew itwas something shameful an' legal--that evening I tried honestly to keep'em out. I pulled down the shade--it was a bitter cold day, a regularblizzard blowing--an' I sat with my back to the window an' tried to readmy Bible while them birds jest shrieked themselves hoarse outside. Well,guess where that Bible opened to! 'Yea, the sparrow hath found a houseand the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young.' Thatwas a message, ma'am, a straight, sure message. I opened the window an'scattered their bread-crumbs out on the sill, which I had made jest theleast bit wider for them--that's what
he calls 'defacin' the buildin'.'After that, I told Mr. McCaleb flat-footed that if he had the heart tostarve them innocent critturs in the dead o' winter, it was more than Ihad. I told him if he'd wait till spring, I'd promise never to open thewindow that faces south after that; but till they could shift forthemselves, I'd shift for them. That's all. Thank _you_, ma'am, forletting me have my say."
She smiled into the president's soft eyes, and rose, looking like atrim, saucy, gray-haired sparrow about to take flight. The president'ssmile started back to her, but on the way it had to pass the recordingsecretary, the visiting committee, and the Rev. Alexander McCaleb. Bythe time it had made the journey it was shorn of half its sympatheticunderstanding.
"You admit then, Mrs. Walker, that you have broken the rule againsthaving pets in the room?" the president asked with gravity. "It is anecessary rule. Fancy what would be the condition of the place if a ladyin No. 117 had a tame sparrow, a gentleman in No. 120 a monkey, hisneighbor a spaniel, the lady across the way a cat, and so on! Iappreciate--we all do, and Mr. McCaleb more than all of us--how tenderand charitable a nature yours is, but"--she looked at the recordingsecretary to gain courage--"but we simply must enforce the rules. I knowso good a housekeeper as you must have been will understand this, andagree with me when I say that such a disciplinarian as Captain Walker nodoubt was--unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of hisacquaintance--would have been the first to counsel you to obey therules. Won't you think it over from our point of view, Mrs. Walker, whenyou go back to your room? Do! Good afternoon."
It was a very dejected Sarah Lucinda Walker that returned to her room.Her depression was noted and audibly commented upon by Mrs. Pearson, hernext-door neighbor and arch-enemy. In fact, the whole corridor was alivewith the news of her defeat. At the lunch-table it was the sole topicof conversation, and in the library old Colonel Rockwell--in the pausesof a quavering rendition of "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep"--bet Mr.Patterson three of the cigars his nephew always sent him on Fridays thatMrs. Walker, being a woman of spirit, would not yield even though theultimatum were expulsion.
Mrs. Walker heard of the wager, of course, that afternoon. They were ahundred or more antiquated and unseaworthy vessels, all anchored in asemi-genteel haven; and from morning till night, till sun should ceasefor them to shine and water to flow they had nothing to do but to listento the whispering tide that told of the great ocean of life beyond, orto gossip among themselves of their own voyages dead and done.
The incorrigible Mrs. Walker's spotless little room, with its bag ofdried crusts on the window-sill, saved for her pet, became the stormcenter that afternoon. Every old lady who could possibly claimacquaintance called to inquire her intentions; every old gentlemanleaned hard upon his cane as he lifted his hat to her in the halls withthe deference due a gallant rebel. They loved a rebel, these oldchildren, at the end of their lives fallen again into the domain of "youmust" and "you must not."
Sarah Lucinda Walker's world rocked beneath her. She intended, shebelieved, to obey the rules, to cast off the one creature on earth towhich she could still play Lady Bountiful; to shut her hospitable windowand her loving old heart on all these fluttering, visiting strangers whohad heard of her generosity, and with every hour carried the news of itfurther.
She intended all this, but when the time came she did simply as oldColonel Rockwell had wagered she would. She opened wide her windows andfed the hungry throng that whirred about her, scattering crumbs andfloating feathers over the immaculate marble of Mr. McCaleb's frontdoor-step.
A knock at the door brought her to her senses. She put a withered littleold hand, very like a sparrow's claw, upon the window-sash to shut ithastily, and then, too proud to deceive, turned boldly to meet her fate.
Mrs. Pearson, on the lookout at her half-open door saw theofficial-looking document handed to her.
"It's her notice to leave," she said in an awed whisper to herself.
In the face of so great a calamity she felt, not triumph, but a shockedsense of loss, of self-reproach. Five minutes after she was in herenemy's room.
"You mustn't--you mustn't cry, dear Mrs. Walker," she sobbed, puttingher arms about the slender old shoulders.
"Am I crying?" the little old lady answered. "I can't help it--I'm sohappy!"
"Happy!" Mrs. Pearson's dazed old eyes turned bewildered from theenvelope with the home's letterhead on it to the bird-like creature inher arms. "And you've got your notice to leave?"
"Did you think it was that? So did I for a minute, an' it 'most killedme. But I opened it, an' found a note from the president--that dear,dear president! She wants to know if I'll take care of her summercottage till the spring comes. An', Marthy Pearson, they's chickens upthere--fancy breeds--a whole yard of 'em--an' I'm to have the feedin' of'em. Ain't it enough to make a body cry for joy? Say, Marthy, wouldyou--would you mind feedin' the sparrers?--only on the very stormiestdays--McCaleb would never suspect you, an' spring's near!"