Saturday morning came, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life2. There was a song in every heart, cheer in every face and a spring in every step.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash3 and a long-handled brush. He looked at the fence, and all gladness left him. Thirty yards of board fence several feet high.
Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank4; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the whitewashed streak5 with the great expanse6 of Aunt Polly’s unwhitewashed fence, and sat down discouraged.
Jim came skipping out at the gate with a tin pail, singing happily. Tom said, “I say, Jim, I’ll fetch the water if you’ll whitewash some of the fence.”
Jim shook his head, “Can’t, Tom. Miss Polly told me to get this water. She said, she expects Tom will ask me to whitewash, and she told me to attend to my own business.”
“Oh, never mind what she said, Jim. That’s the way she always talks. Give me the bucket. She won’t know.”
“Oh, I daren’t. Lick7 me she would.”
“She! She never licks anybody. She talks awful, but talk doesn’t hurt—as long as she doesn’t cry. Jim, I’ll give you a marble8. I’ll give you a white alley9!”
Jim began to weaken.
“White alley, Jim!”
Jim stared longingly at the marble.
“And besides, if you will, I’ll show you my sore toe, too.”
This attraction was too much for Jim. He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with great interest.
In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail, and a stinging behind; Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field of battle with a slipper in one hand, and triumph in her eye.
But Tom’s energy did not last. Soon the free boys would be coming; tripping along on all sorts of exciting expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work. The thought burned him like fire. At this dark and hopeless moment an idea burst upon him!
He took up his brush and went on quietly with his work. A few moments later, Ben Rogers came in sight—the very boy whose ridicule10 he had been dreading.
Ben was eating an apple, and giving a long whoop11 at intervals12, followed by a ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was pretending to be a steamboat. He was boat and captain and engine bell combined, and he had to imagine himself standing on his own deck, giving orders and, at the same time, obeying them.
Tom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said, “Hi-Yi! You’re up a stump13, aren’t you?”
No answer. Tom looked over his last effort with the eye of an artist. Then he gave his brush another gentle sweep, and looked at the result, as before.
Ben stood beside him. Tom’s mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said,“Hello, old chap, you’ve got to work, eh?”
Tom wheeled round suddenly and said, “Why, it’s you, Ben! I wasn’t noticing.”
“Say, I’m going swimming, I am. Don’t you wish you could? But of course you’d rather work, wouldn’t you?‘Course you would!”
Tom stared at Ben for a moment, and said, “What do you call work?”
“Why, isn’t that work?”
Tom went back to his whitewashing, and said carelessly, “Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. All I know is, it suits Tom Sawyer.”
“Oh，come now, you don’t mean to say that you like it?”
The brush continued to move. “Like it? Well, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?”
That put the thing in a new light14. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily15 back and forth—and stepped back to criticize the effect. Ben watched every move and became more and more interested. Presently he said, “Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little.”
Tom considered; was about to consent; but he altered his mind, “No, no. I reckon16 that wouldn’t do, Ben. You see Aunt Polly is very particular about this fence—right here on the street, you know. Now, if it was the back fence I wouldn’t mind, and she wouldn’t. I reckon there isn’t a boy in a thousand, or maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it’s got to be done.”
“Oh come now, let me just try. I’d let you, if you were me.”
“Ben, I’d like to, 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 him. Now you see how it is?”
“Oh, go on, Tom. I’ll be just as careful. Let me try. I’ll give you the core of my apple.”
“Well, here—No, Ben. I’m afraid...”
“I’ll give you all of it!”
Tom gave up the brush with unwillingness in his face, but delight in his heart. And while the late steamboat actor worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled17 his legs, munched18 his apple, and planned to trap any more innocents who came his way.
There was no lack of material; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer19, but remained to whitewash. And when the middle of the afternoon came, Tom had collected a kite, a dead rat, twelve marbles, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, a kitten with only one eye, and the handle of a knife. He had had a nice, idle time all the while—plenty of company—and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it!
Tom had discovered the great law of human nature; that in order to make a man or a boy want a thing, it is only necessary to make it difficult to attain.
星期六的早晨到了，夏天的世界，阳光明媚，空气清新。万物充满活力，每个人的心中都荡漾着一首歌，每个人的脸庞都洋溢着欢乐，每个人的脚步都如此轻快。
汤姆出现在人行道上，一手拎着一桶白色涂料，一手拿着长柄刷子。他审视了一下栅栏，所有的欢乐立刻烟消云散，30码长的栅栏板有几英尺高。
他叹了一口气，用刷子蘸上涂料，从最上面一层木板开始刷起来。刷了一两下，他停下来，看看刚刚刷过的地方，与波莉姨妈那剩下的一大片栅栏比了比，汤姆垂头丧气地坐了下来。
这时，吉姆手提着一个锡桶，高高兴兴地唱着歌儿，从大门口蹦蹦跳跳地跑了出来。汤姆说：“喂，吉姆，如果你来刷点儿栅栏，我就去提水。”
“不行，汤姆少爷，波莉小姐叫我去提水。她说，她料到汤姆会让我刷栅栏的，她警告我干好自己的活儿。”
“咳，别去管她说的那一套，她老是那么说。把水桶给我，她不会知道的。”
“哦，我可不敢，她会揍我的。”
“她吗？她可从来没揍过谁。她不过是嘴巴上说得凶，被她说说又没什么大不了的——只要她不冲你大叫大嚷就没事儿。吉姆，我给你一个弹子，给你一个玻璃珠！”
吉姆开始有些动摇。
“那可是玻璃珠啊，吉姆！”
吉姆满眼渴望地望着那个弹子。
“还有，吉姆，要是你答应的话，我还给你看我的那只肿脚趾头。”
这诱惑对吉姆来说太大了。他放下水桶，接过玻璃珠，还兴致勃勃地弯腰去看汤姆的那只肿脚趾。
突然，吉姆一手捂着火辣辣的屁股，一手拎着水桶飞快地沿着街道跑掉了。汤姆卖力地刷栅栏，波莉姨妈打完吉姆，一手拎着一只拖鞋，眼里露出胜利的神色。
不过，汤姆这股劲儿没持续多久。过了一会儿，那些个自由自在的男孩们就会来了，做五花八门好玩的游戏。他们要是看见他不得不干活，准会大肆挖苦他。想到这儿，汤姆心里火烧般地难受。正在快要绝望的时候，他忽然灵机一动，计上心来！
他拿起刷子，闷声不响地继续干活。过了一会儿，本·罗杰斯出现了——这个男孩挖苦人的本事最令汤姆头疼不已。
他正在吃苹果，不时地发出一声长长的“呜——”声，隔会儿还“叮叮当、叮叮当”地学着铃声，他这是在扮一艘轮船。他既是船、又是船长、还兼发动机，他想像着自己正站在“本·罗杰斯号”的甲板上发号施令，同时自己又去执行命令。
汤姆继续刷着他的栅栏，不去理会那艘轮船，本瞪着眼睛看了一会儿，说：“哎呀！你又闯祸啦，是不是？”
汤姆没回答。只是用艺术家的眼光审视着他刚刚刷过的那块，接着轻轻刷了一下，又像刚才那样打量着自己的成果。
本站到他身旁。看见那个苹果，汤姆馋得直流口水，可他还是坚持刷他的栅栏。本说：“嘿，老伙计，你还得干活呀，咦？”
汤姆猛地转过身来说道：“咳！是你呀，本。我还没看到你呢。”
“哈，告诉你吧，我可是要去游泳了，现在就去。难道你不想去吗？当然啦，你宁可在这干活，对不对？肯定是的！”
汤姆上下打量了一下本，说：“你说啥？这也叫干活？”
“这还不叫干活，那该叫什么？”
汤姆扭过头边继续刷栅栏，边漫不经心地说：“也许是，也许不是。我只知道汤姆·索亚干这个挺带劲儿。”
“哦，得了吧！你不会是说你爱干这活儿吧？”
汤姆仍刷着，“喜欢干？哎，我真搞不懂干嘛我不能喜欢干这个，哪个男孩子能天天有机会刷栅栏？”
这话听起来倒挺新鲜的。本不再啃他的苹果。汤姆灵巧地用刷子这里补一刷，那里补一刷——然后再打量一下效果。本观察着汤姆的一举一动，越看越觉得有趣。后来他说：“喂，汤姆，让我来刷几下试试。”
汤姆想了一下，正打算答应他；可他立马又改变了主意：“不，不行，本，我想这恐怕不行。要知道，波莉姨妈对这面栅栏可是非常讲究的——这可是当街的一面呀。要是现在是后边那一面的，你刷我不会介意，姨妈也不会在乎的。我琢磨着一千人，甚至两千人中，也不见得有一个男孩能干好这活儿。”
“哎，就让我试试吧。我只刷一点儿。如果我是你的话，我也会让你刷的。”
“本，我倒是愿意，不过，波莉姨妈那儿……呃，吉姆想干她不让，斯德想干她也不让。现在你看到进展如何了吧？”
“噢，没事，汤姆。我会像你一样小心的。让我试试吧。我把我的苹果核给你。”
“唉，这样……不行，本。我怕……”
“我把苹果全给你！”
汤姆把刷子让给了本，脸上虽然透着不情愿，心里却乐开了花。当刚才那只“轮船”大汗淋漓地在烈日下干活时，这位退隐了的艺术家却躲在附近的阴凉处，坐在一只木桶上，跷着二郎腿，大口大口地嚼着苹果，心里还在暗暗盘算如何诱骗更多撞上门来的傻瓜。
这样的傻瓜还真不少。每过一阵子，就会有些男孩子碰巧从这经过；起先他们都想来取笑汤姆，可结果都留下来刷栅栏。到下午过了一半的时候，汤姆已经收集了一个风筝，一只死老鼠，12个弹子，一块可当透视镜的蓝玻璃瓶底，一个锡人士兵，一对蝌蚪，一只独眼猫，和一个刀柄。他一直过得舒服惬意——有很多帮手——而且栅栏被刷上了厚厚三层！
汤姆发现了人性的一个伟大规律：要想让一个男人或是男孩需要某样东西，只要让他们觉得它难以得到就行了。
1. 马克·吐温（1835-1910），美国著名小说家，一生著述颇丰。他擅长使用幽默和讽刺，针砭时弊。其创作将现实主义和浪漫主义和谐统一，作品对后来的美国文学产生了深远影响。
2. brim with life 充满生机
3. whitewash n. 白色涂料
4. plank n. 厚木板
5. streak n. 条纹
6. expanse n. 宽阔的区域
7. lick v. 鞭打
8. marble n. 弹珠；石弹子
9. white alley 在玩弹子游戏中用的小圆玻璃珠
10. ridicule n. 嘲笑，奚落
11. whoop n. 大叫
12. at intervals 不时地
13. be up a stump 有麻烦
14. put the thing in a new light 使事情具有新的意义
15. daintily adv. 讲究地
16. reckon v. 估计，料想
17. dangle v. 悬吊，摇摆
18. munch v. 咀嚼
19. jeer v. 嘲笑