Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, stretching far in both directions, and all joy left him. Thirty yards of board fence—nine feet high! Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden.
 
Sighing, he dipped his brush and made a feeble stroke on the nearest plank. He repeated it, but lacked enthusiasm. He sat down on a tree stump and wished he were anywhere else.
Just then, Ben Rogers came by, munching on an apple and walking with a proud air. He noticed Tom’s plight and called out, “Hello, old chap! You’ve got to work, eh?”
 
Tom frowned but quickly regained his composure. “Work? This ain’t work. It’s art.”
Ben stopped. “What do you mean?”
 
Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t reckon just anybody can whitewash a fence the right way. It takes skill.”
Ben’s interest was piqued. “Let me try, Tom!”
Tom hesitated, pretending to be reluctant. “Well... Aunt Polly wants it done right. It takes a steady hand, you see.”
 
Ben pleaded, “Come on, just once!”
After much hesitation, Tom finally agreed—if Ben gave him his apple. Soon, Ben was painting away, while Tom sat nearby, munching contentedly. One by one, other boys came along, each eager for a turn, trading marbles, a kite, and even a dead rat for the privilege.
 
By the time the fence had three coats of whitewash, Tom had amassed a small treasure, and what had begun as a dreaded chore had become a brilliant scheme.
He had learned an important lesson: to make a boy covet something, you only have to make it hard to get.