Whitewashing the Fence — Mark Twain

Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high! Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Then an inspiration burst upon him—nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work as Ben Rogers came in sight, eating an apple. "Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?" said Tom carelessly. That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Before long, every boy in the village was paying Tom for the privilege of working—and the fence had three coats of whitewash.