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the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far `
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enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting. `
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Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a `
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long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and `
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a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board `
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fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a `
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burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost `
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plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant `
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whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed `
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fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at `
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the gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from `
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the town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before, but `
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now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at `
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the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there `
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waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, `
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fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only `
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a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of `
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water under an hour--and even then somebody generally had to go after `
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him. Tom said: `
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"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some." `
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Jim shook his head and said: `
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"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git dis `
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water an' not stop foolin' roun' wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars `
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Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long an' 'tend `
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to my own business--she 'lowed SHE'D 'tend to de whitewashin'." `
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"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's the way she always `
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talks. Gimme the bucket--I won't be gone only a a minute. SHE won't `
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ever know." `
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"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n `
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me. 'Deed she would." `
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"SHE! She never licks anybody--whacks 'em over the head with her `
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thimble--and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She talks awful, but `
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talk don't hurt--anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give you `
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a marvel. I'll give you a white alley!" `
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Jim began to waver. `
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"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw." `
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"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I's powerful `
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'fraid ole missis--" `
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"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore toe." `
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Jim was only human--this attraction was too much for him. He put down `
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his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing `
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interest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he was `
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flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was `
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whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field `
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with a slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye. `
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But Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had `
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planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys `
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would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and `
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they would make a world of fun of him for having to work--the very `
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thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and `
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examined it--bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an `
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exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an `
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hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his `
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pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark `
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and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a `
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great, magnificent inspiration. `
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He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in `
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sight presently--the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been `
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dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump--proof enough that his `
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heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and `
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giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned `
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ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As `
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he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned `
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far over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious `
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pomp and circumstance--for he was personating the Big Missouri, and `
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considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and `
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captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself `
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standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them: `
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"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!" The headway ran almost out, and he `
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drew up slowly toward the sidewalk. `
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"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!" His arms straightened and `
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stiffened down his sides. `
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"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow! `
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Chow!" His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles--for it was `
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representing a forty-foot wheel. `
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"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!" `
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The left hand began to describe circles. `
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"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead `
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on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! `
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Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now! `
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Come--out with your spring-line--what're you about there! Take a turn `
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round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now--let her `
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go! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T!" `
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(trying the gauge-cocks). `
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Tom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben `
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stared a moment and then said: "Hi-YI! YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you!" `
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No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then `
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he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as `
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before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the `
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apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said: `
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"Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?" `
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Tom wheeled suddenly and said: `
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"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing." `
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"Say--I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of `
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course you'd druther WORK--wouldn't you? Course you would!" `
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Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said: `
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"What do you call work?" `
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"Why, ain't THAT work?" `
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Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly: `
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"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom `
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Sawyer." `
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"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it?" `
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The brush continued to move. `
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"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get `
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a chance to whitewash a fence every day?" `
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That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom `
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swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the `
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effect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again--Ben `
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watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more `
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absorbed. Presently he said: `
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"Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little." `
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Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind: `
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"No--no--I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's `
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awful particular about this fence--right here on the street, you know `
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--but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't. Yes, `
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she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very `
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careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two `
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thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done." `
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"No--is that so? Oh come, now--lemme just try. Only just a little--I'd `
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let YOU, if you was me, Tom." `
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"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to `
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do it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't `
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let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this `
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fence and anything was to happen to it--" `
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"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give `
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you the core of my apple." `
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"Well, here--No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard--" `
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"I'll give you ALL of it!" `
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Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his `
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heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in `
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the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, `
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dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more `
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innocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every `
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little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time `
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Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for `
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a kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in `
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for a dead rat and a string to swing it with--and so on, and so on, `
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hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being `
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a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling `
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in wealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, `
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part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a `
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spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, `
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a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six `
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fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a `
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dog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of `
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orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash. `
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He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company `
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--and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out `
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of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village. `
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Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He `
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had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it--namely, `
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that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only `
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necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great `
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and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have `
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comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, `
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and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And `
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