Chapter One, Tom and the Fence Tom!
No answer.
Tom!
No answer.
Tom Sawyer, you come on out here.
Aunt Polly scrunched her eyes and carefully looked over the bedroom.
She turned the house upside down, but there was still no sign of the adventurous boy.
You just wait until I get a hold of you.
Tom's aunt muttered as she poked under the bed with a broom without success.
Seeing an open window, she stuck her head out scanning the garden for a glimpse of her headstrong nephew.
But all she saw there was the stack of wood he hadn't cut and the grass he hadn't mowed.
Suddenly hearing a small squeak behind her.
She turned just in time to seize the small boy by his collar.
Aha! she cried in triumph.
I knew I should have checked that closet right off.
Now, what's that on your mouth?
Tom Sawyer stood before his aunt with his lips smeared a bright red.
Nothing, ma'am.
Nothing indeed.
Why?
That's the fresh raspberry jam I made for Mrs. Harper.
And what's that?
Take your hands out of those pockets.
As Tom slowly took his hands out, a white powder trail began raining down onto the floor.
Aunt Polly shoved her hands into the pockets of Tom's overalls.
My goodness, she cried in disbelief.
You must have a pound of sugar in there.
She put her hands on her hips and looked down at her nephew.
Tom Sawyer, that is absolutely the last straw.
The very next day was Saturday, and a fine summer Saturday it was.
The morning sky was bright and fresh, and the whole world brimmed with life.
Tom, however, stood sadly out on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush.
He looked at the fence in front of Aunt Polly's house.
It was at least nine feet high and ran nearly half the block long, and Tom had to paint it all as punishment for the mischief he had caused the day before.
Sighing loudly, he dipped the brush in the bucket and began daubing one of the fence boards.
After only a few strokes, Tom sat down.
He began to think of all the fun he'd planned for the day—
It was such a fine day for fishing, for fighting, for all sorts of adventuring, but Tom knew that painting the fence would take up all afternoon.
Worse other boys would come by soon and see him doing his chores, while they had the whole day free for their adventures.
Tom could barely stand the thought of it.
Slowly he got up and started back to work, dipping the brush into the bucket of whitewash and making long strokes over the boards of the fence.
Tom hadn't been at work five minutes when he heard a sound he feared.
It was whistling, and not just any whistling.
It was the whistling of a boy set out on some great quest.
Tom turned his head halfway and saw Ben Rogers bounding down the street with a hop, skip and a jump and a shiny green apple in his hand.
Tom turned back to his painting, but just then he had an idea.
He stood up straight and stared at the fence in front of him with deep concentration.
Curious at what Tom was doing, Ben Rogers now stopped right behind the silent boy.
Tom could still hear him whistling.
There was a pause, and then the sound of a big, juicy crunch as Ben took a bite out of his apple.
Pretending that he hadn't seen Ben at all, Tom started painting again.
Ben Rogers started whistling again, this time even louder, but Tom kept on painting.
Gotta work, hey?
Ben finally snickered.
Tom didn't turn around to answer.
Instead, he put his brush down and crossed his arms.
He then rubbed his chin with one hand and stared at the fence as if he were working out some great mystery, say.
Ben coughed in yet another attempt to get tom's attention and polly put you to work.
Tom turned suddenly as if shocked to see someone there.
Gosh ben, i didn't know you was there.
I bet you didn't.
Ben smiled before taking another bite out of his delicious apple.
I'm going to the swimming hole.
Don't you wish you could come along?
Of course.
I'm sure you'd rather work all day.
Tom looked Ben over slowly from head to toe.
With a puzzled face, he asked, What work are you talking about?
Ain't that work?
Ben said, pointing at the paintbrush in the fence.
Tom looked Ben over again.
Then he turned around, picked up his brush, and resumed painting.
I suppose you're gonna tell me you like painting that fence, Ben called out.
Tom didn't turn around, but simply said It's not every day a boy gets to paint a whole fence by himself.
Ben stopped in mid-bite and watched Tom run the brush daintily over the wood fence, stepping back every stroke or two to admire his work.
Say, Tom, let me try.
Tom stopped.
He slowly turned to Ben while pretending to consider his idea for a moment.
No, no, I'm sorry.
Aunt Polly wouldn't like She said there ain't one boy in a thousand that's fit to paint this fence.
Come on, Tom, Ben moaned.
Let me just try, please.
Just one stroke.
I'd let you if you was me.
Tom started rubbing his chin again, looking Ben over just as seriously as he'd been looking that fence over.
I'll give you my apple, Ben cried out.
Tom considered a moment longer.
Then, very slowly, he handed the brush over to Ben Rogers.
Sitting under a shady tree Tom, now no longer gloomy, savored the last tasty bite of the green apple and watched Ben paint the fence in the hot sun.
Tom thought he had discovered something wonderful.
To make a boy want something, all you had to do was make that something hard to get.
