"William and Billy were two brothers, and they lived with their father and mother. Their father was named Mr. Holloway. He had been a very rich man, but now he had lost most of his money. He lost it through a chink in the wall. After that he kept his money on ice.
"'Come,' said William to Billy. 'Let us go down to the brook and fish.'
"So they went.
"'Hi-i!' said Billy, 'I've found a penny.'
"He then found a very large smooth rock to lay it on before they began to fish.
"They meant to catch a whale, but they tried for little fishes first. William caught one little one, and laid it on the rock. Presently they heard the fish screaming and yelling, and they went to the rock, and saw the penny was gone. They knew the fish had swallowed it, for he kept on screeching so. They took him up and jiggled him by the tail, and the penny dropped out. At last they caught a whale, and carried him home with the little fish. Mr. and Mrs. Holloway thought they would like to go to that same brook and fish. So, early the next morning, they went. They worked all day, and William and Billy had two pieces of pie for dinner all alone. And what do you think? When Mr. and Mrs. Holloway came home they had only caught one skinny, miserable little thing, and William and Billy sat down and roared laughing."
Scrap asked Mary if she thought any one would like to publish this story. He said it wasn't truly true, but he had it in his head just as if it was true. He said the German boys liked it; but he knew they were sorry William and Billy were Americans.
Scrap began a museum about this time, and when you paid a penny and went in to see it, you were treated to a tepid drink which he called "lemarade," and which made you feel very uncomfortable almost at once. Scrap mixed it in a bottle, and kept it under his little pillow, except on "museum days." This museum was a source of great joy to the round-faced German boys. It contained a variety of articles brought from America. One was a piece of horseshoe, which Scrap labelled "An American's bone."
He had some old teeth; a broken pistol; an ancient army hat of his father's; varieties of buttons; a few dried flowers, labelled, "From Central Park, United States of 'Merica"; a piece of marble with which, Scrap said, "any one could plant a whole tombstone" (he believed they grew); and finally a number of old postage stamps. Quantity seemed to be mainly Scrap's object. When, you got tired of looking, the "lemarade" 'was again handed around.
After a few exhibitions of this valuable collection, it seemed to occur to Scrap that the affair needed life and animation. So he instituted a dance 'midway in the performance. It was done with great gravity, and dear little Scrap's feet were so large that they made every movement funny. Somehow, although it was meant as a diversion, that dance was so pathetic no one could smile naturally, and Scrap himself seemed to consider it a dignified affair.
I am sorry that I can not tell you more about dear little Scrap's doings. His active, merry, earnest ways seem to have filled all that German winter. He organized all the games of the neighborhood, and was the leader in everything. All the time he had certain quiet hours in which, dear baby that he was in years, his education went on—his funny little education! He wrote and read and spelled, and he did the most astonishing little sums.
One snowy March day Scrap fell ill. His longing to see America once more grew positively painful. He kept his desk near him, and continued his "museum days," always handing around "lemarade" at the usual intervals, and promising us new dances when he got well.
The boys used to make a circle around his bed, and it seemed to worry them that at times they had been cross or rough with Scrap. Unless he was very weak, he would always tell them stories. His little face grew very white and wistful-looking, and his voice very tired, and I think if any one had had the heart, those museum days would have been interfered with, for he entered into the spirit of them so keenly that they left him very weary.
At last he gave them up of his own will. He found he could not enjoy them; but he kept his little flag close at hand. One afternoon, when it was snowing outside, and everything in-doors was very still, and Ben was asleep in a chair by the fire, Scrap touched his sister Mary with one little feverish hand, and said:
"Molly, isn't it 'Merika yet?"