e fun he had planned for this day, and his
sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all
sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of
him for having to work--the very thought of it burnt him like fire.

He got out his worldly wealth and examined it--bits of toys, marbles and
trash; enough to buy an exchange of work maybe, but not enough to buy so
much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened
means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys.

At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him. Nothing
less than a great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush and
went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently; the very
boy of all boys whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the
hop, skip, and jump--proof enough that his heart was light and his
anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long melodious
whoop at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding dong dong, ding dong
dong, for he was personating a steamboat.

Tom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamer. Ben stared a
moment, and then said--

"Hi-yi! You're a stump, ain't you!"

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist; then
he gave his brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the result as
before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the
apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said--

"Hello, old chap; you got to work, hey?"

"Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing."

"Say, I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of
course you'd druther work, wouldn't you? 'Course you would!"

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said--

"What do you call work?"

"Why ain't that work?"

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly--

"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know is, it suits Tom
Sawyer."

"Oh, come now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?"

The brush continued to move.

"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a
chance to whitewash a fence every day?"

That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom
swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the
effect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again, Ben
watching every move, and getting more and more interested, more and more
absorbed. Presently he said--

"Say, Tom, let me wh