"Come here, boys," said Mary Grey, closing the dining-room door very
softly, and calling Ben and Lewis to her. Mary was their elder sister.
She seemed a great deal older than the boys, for Ben was only nine, and
Lewis six, while Mary was seventeen.
"A dear little brother is upstairs waiting to see you," said Mary. "And
if you are good boys, nurse says you may hold him for a few moments in
your arms."
Ben and Lewis began capering about with delight; but they followed Mary
upstairs, very much impressed by the idea that they had a new member of
the family to meet--a tiny wee boy, all their own little brother.
In Dr. Grey's house there is a big, sunny, peaceful room fronting an
old-fashioned garden, and there it was that the little brother lay
waiting in a pink and white cradle. Ben and Lewis went in very softly.
They were very much afraid of old Mrs. Newman, the nurse; they were
afraid the baby would cry; and yet there was in their minds a general
impression that the new boy in the family would put them out of power.
But at sight of the baby all such fears vanished. Such a mite of a
thing! A dear little black head, a pair of bright, blinking eyes,
doubled-up pink fists, and a dimple in one cheek. It was while the two
boys stood looking at him for the first time that he was given the name
which always clung to him in spite of his being christened Philip.
"Oh, Mary," Lewis exclaimed, in a soft tone, "I sha'n't mind _him_--he
is only a little Scrap!"
I don't know just why it was, but from that hour no one seemed to think
of calling him anything but "Scrap." Perhaps it was because he had such
a dear little face that every one wanted to give him a pet name. Perhaps
it was because he was so slimly built, and was always such a wee thing
in spite of rosy cheeks and merry ways. But in any case the name clung
to him.
When his mother died he was only a baby, but she already had called him
by his nickname, and it was Mary, I think, who passionately declared he
should know no other.
Ben and Lewis took Scrap in charge immediately. They thought it great
fun to hold the little big-eyed baby, and feel that he was younger and
weaker than they. But yet Scrap was a real boy. As soon as he could
understand any sort of fun, which was very early, they taught him all
their games, and they made him what they called their "Regiment." Ben
and Lewis were Colonel and Captain of Scrap; and Scrap himself was well
enough pleased with his subordinate position. Sometimes they played at
what they called "Marching against the North Pole," and it was a curious
thing that they always chose such very hot weather for this particular
game. They wore blankets, and counterpanes, and old seal-skin caps, and
they sat on the nursery stairs, covered with rugs, pretending they were
in sleighs, on their way to the North Pole, while the perspiration
streamed from their faces. It was usually Ben who, at a given moment,
impersonated a singular character known as the "Iceberg Man," and who
upset the whole company. Scrap, weighed down by bedding, generally fell
asleep during this performance, and I must say that Ben and Lewis rather
languished toward the end of it; but they never tired of playing at that
game over and over again, until cold weather came.
Scrap had the measles about this time, and while he lay in bed Ben and
Lewis occupied themselves writing bulletins of his progress, which were
pinned to the dining-room door every morning, and were intended to be
very helpful in their character. Scrap was by no means dangerously ill,
but his seclusion filled the boys with a sense of horror. One of these
bulletins ran as follows:
"No chainge for the better. Pulse is lite and he cries a good deal. Mary
says he's got to be made to keep still."
Another:
"He kicked Mrs. Brown, and called her a cross old thing. Tong is bad and
he wont kepe the kovers on him. Mary says he is orful to take kare of."
As the disease progressed, the bulletins became still more unpleasantly
personal. One, written in very black ink, ran as follows:
"He put his Tong out at the doctor, and mary says we are afrade he is
going to have the mumps and if he does wont there just be a time with
him."
This "time" came to pass, for mumps set in, and poor little Scrap's
seclusion left him a very white-faced, tired little person indeed. But
after a time no more horrible bulletins had to be written about him, for
all his sweetness of temper returned, and he played at being the
"Regiment" again with great gayety.
[Illustration: SCRAP AND HIS KITTEN.]
It was about this time that I one day heard a knock at my front door,
and opening it myself, found Scrap standing very still, his eyes
twinkling, and his little mouth trying not to smile. He had a wee kitten
in a basket.
"Well, Scrap!" I exclaimed, "I'm glad to see you, dear. Where did pussy
come from?"
"I find I don't need her," he said, soberly, coming in and sitting down,
grave as a little judge. "She's a present for you. Do you think you like
cats?"
"Not always," I had to answer in truth. "But that looks such a dear
little thing! Where did you get her, Scrap dear?"
"The ashman gave her to me," said Scrap, with a little anxious frown.
"As a general fact ashmen don't own kittens, at least so this one said
they didn't; but he said if we didn't buy her he'd drown her in a bag,
and I bought her with my penny; but I find I don't need her, and I
thought you'd like her for a real truly present."
Who could refuse Scrap's offering, even though it entailed watching a
little kitten that could not crawl?
"She doesn't know how to be sorry for me," he said, as he was leaving,
having kissed pussy tenderly good-by--"but she is only a baby. I think,"
he added, looking at me with his earnest little way--"I think the ashman
is her uncle."
Scrap early developed two talents; one was for running away, the other
was for composing stories. The stories were most interesting, but the
running away used to frighten the whole household. Scrap would be
brought back from these expeditions a most dejected, tired little
person. One day he wandered all over New York with a German band;
another time he was found in an old woman's shanty, learning how to feed
pigs. When he was remonstrated with he would listen very soberly, fixing
his eyes on Mary's face, and watching her mouth with comical intentness;
but unfortunately it was impossible to make him appreciate the dangerous
character of his offenses. One day, after Mary had exhausted all her
eloquence, and told him of every possible danger, he remarked, calmly:
"That wasn't half as interesting as the last time, Mary. You never told
me a word about Charlie Ross. Begin with how he was let go out to play."
Then his little eyes danced, and he added, with his quaint air: "Make it
just as frightening as you can, and couldn't you put in something about
bears? Just scare me awfully, and see if it won't do me good."
Soon after this a means of preventing Scrap's vagabondizing occurred.
Dr. Grey decided to take all the children to Germany, and Mary told
Scrap he would see far more there than he ever could by running away. So
the family sailed one summer for Austria. It was when they were on the
steamer that they discovered Scrap had hidden away in his pocket a tiny
American flag. Ben and Lewis laughed at him dreadfully, but Scrap was
not to be put down.
"Now, you boys," he said, with his most dignified air, "suppose they
should take me for a German, don't you see? I'll just show them my
'Merikan flag."
This spirit moved little Scrap all the time he was abroad. He resolutely
refused to mingle with German boys in any purely German sport, lest he
should lose his position as a "'Merikan" among them. He would say, "I'll
show you some of our 'Merikan games, if you can learn them."
In the little German town where the boys lived he became a sort of small
leader, older boys quite giving way before his manly assertion of
authority. Among others, Scrap played with some young German Princes,
whose rank in their own country entitled them to rule in all the games.
This puzzled and bothered Scrap. One day he withdrew from a game, calmly
remarking: "Perhaps you didn't know--I am a 'Merikan Prince."
After that Scrap's power never was contested. All that winter he went on
writing his funny little stories, or telling them to the other boys. I
do not know just whence Scrap's stories came, nor how they were made up,
but I will quote from one which lies before me.
"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?"
Mary had tears so thickly in her eyes, she bent her face that Scrap
might not see them. The dear little face on the pillow was watching hers
anxiously.
"It will be very soon, my darling."
Scrap moved about restlessly for a moment, tracing a pattern on the wall
with one little finger. It grew tired so soon. When he turned his face
again to Mary, he said, with his old quaint air, and jealously holding
his little flag, "Won't I _always_ be a truly 'Merikan, Molly?"
They re-assured him on this point, and he fell asleep quite comforted.
The dear little Scrap! He scarcely spoke again. The next day's wintry
dawn saw him in his last slumber. The little flag he had so treasured as
the symbol of his native land was held so closely in his fingers that
they would not move it. His little friends came in to see him for
good-by, and Mary and Ben and Lewis talked of the day when he had first
come to them, lying in that pink and white cradle over the sea. Would
the room look the same ever again? Ben wondered. Lewis talked of how
Scrap had loved the garden.
When they kissed him for the last time, and laid him to rest, the bit of
color and the faded stars went with him. His dear little face wore its
sweetest look. The flag was clasped on his bosom, and winter flowers
were lying all about him.