itewash a little."

Tom considered; was about to consent; but he altered his mind: "No, no;
I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful
particular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but if
it was the back fence I wouldn't mind, and she wouldn't. Yes, she's
awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I
reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can
do it the way it's got to be done."

"No--is that so? Oh, come now; lemme just try, only just a little. I'd
let you, if you was me, Tom."

"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to do
it, but she wouldn't let him. Sid wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let
Sid. Now, don't you see how I am fixed? If you was to tackle this fence,
and anything was to happen to it--"

"Oh, shucks; I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give you
the core of my apple."

"Well, here. No, Ben; now don't; I'm afeard--"

"I'll give you all of it!"

Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his
heart. And while Ben worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist
sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his
apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of
material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, but
remained to whitewash.

By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy
Fisher for a kite in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller
bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with; and so on, and
so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from
being a poor, poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally
rolling in wealth.

He had, besides the things I have mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a
jew's harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a
spool-cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk,
a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six
fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a
dog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of
orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window-sash. He had had a nice, good,
idle time all the while--plenty of company--and the fence had three
coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of whitewash, he would
have bankrupted every boy in the village.

Tom said to himself that it was no