SATURDAY morning was come, and all
the summer world was bright and fresh,
and brimming with life. There was a
song in every heart; and if the heart was
young the music issued at the lips. There
was cheer in every face and a spring in
every step. The locust-trees were in bloom and the
fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff
Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with
vegetation and it lay just far enough away to seem
a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of
whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed
the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep
melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards
of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed
hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he
dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank;
repeated the operation; did it again; compared the
insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching
continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a
tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the
gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing
water from the town pump had always been hateful
work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did not strike
him so. He remembered that there was company
at the pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and
girls were always there waiting their turns, resting,
trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting, skylarking.
And he remembered that although the pump was only
a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with
a bucket of water under an hour -- and even then
somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:
"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash
Jim shook his head and said:
"Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I
got to go an' git dis water an' not stop foolin' roun'
wid anybody. She say she spec' Mars Tom gwine
to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me go 'long
an' 'tend to my own business -- she 'lowed SHE'D 'tend
to de whitewashin'."
"Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That's
the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket -- I
won't be gone only a a minute. SHE won't ever know."
"Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take
an' tar de head off'n me. 'Deed she would."
"SHE! She never licks anybody -- whacks 'em over
the head with her thimble -- and who cares for that,
I'd like to know. She talks awful, but talk don't
hurt -- anyways it don't if she don't cry. Jim, I'll give
you a marvel. I'll give you a white alley!"
Jim began to waver.
"White alley, Jim! And it's a bully taw."
"My! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, I tell you!
But Mars Tom I's powerful 'fraid ole missis --"
"And besides, if you will I'll show you my sore
Jim was only human -- this attraction was too much
for him. He put down his pail, took the white alley,
and bent over the toe with absorbing interest while the
bandage was being unwound. In another moment he
was flying down the street with his pail and a tingling
rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt
Polly was retiring from the field with a slipper in her
hand and triumph in her eye.
But Tom's energy did not last. He began to think
of the 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 half 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. As he drew near, he slackened speed,
took the middle of the street, leaned far over to
starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious
pomp and circumstance -- for he was personating the
Big Missouri, and considered himself to be drawing
nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and
engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself
standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders
and executing them:
"Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!" The headway ran
almost out, and he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.
"Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!" His arms
straightened and stiffened down his sides.
"Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling!
Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow!" His right hand,
meantime, describing stately circles -- for it was representing
a forty-foot wheel.
"Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling!
Chow-ch-chow-chow!" The left hand began
to describe circles.
"Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the
labboard! Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her!
Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling!
Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now!
Come -- out with your spring-line -- what're you about
there! Take a turn round that stump with the bight
of it! Stand by that stage, now -- let her go! Done
with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T!
SH'T!" (trying the gauge-cocks).
Tom went on whitewashing -- paid no attention to
the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said:
"Hi-YI! YOU'RE up 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?"
Tom wheeled suddenly and said:
"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
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 whitewash 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,
"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, and she wouldn't let Sid. Now
don't you see how I'm 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 the late steamer
Big Missouri 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 before mentioned, twelve
marbles, part of a jews-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 doorknob,
a dog-collar -- but no dog -- the handle of a knife,
four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window
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 not such a hollow
world, after all. He had discovered a great law of
human action, without knowing it -- namely, that in
order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only
necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If
he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the
writer of this book, he would now have comprehended
that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to
do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not
obliged to do. And this would help him to understand
why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a
tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing
Mont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy
gentlemen in England who drive four-horse passenger-coaches
twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the
summer, because the privilege costs them considerable
money; but if they were offered wages for the service,
that would turn it into work and then they would
The boy mused awhile over the substantial change
which had taken place in his worldly circumstances,
and then wended toward headquarters to report.