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 whitewash a little."

     Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind: