1 Tom and the Fence

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CHAPTER 1 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'd turned the house upside down but there was still no sign of the adventurous boy. "You just wait until I get ahold of you!" Tom's aunt muttered as she poked under the bed with the 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 kinds 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, 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. "Got to 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. "I say." Ben coughed in yet another attempt to get Tom's attention. "Aunt Polly