“I might practice, first,” said Boy Blue.
So he tugged the paint-bucket down from the bench; he slopped a little over, too. It did not fall on his trowsers; they were short, and fastened at the knee with three buttons; the blue splashes were on the white stockings below the trowsers, and Boy Blue saw them.
“But they will wash,” said he to himself.
Then Boy Blue and the paint-bucket walked off behind the tool-house; that was a good place to practice, because the clapboards were so smooth, and of a nice gray color, on which the blue paint showed beautifully.
“I’ll make five stripes, ’cause I’m most five years old,” thought Boy Blue.
The first were crooked, and he had to make five more; they-were too long, so he made some shorter ones. Soon all the side of the tool-house, as high as his short arm could reach, was painted in blue stripes.
“If I only had a ladder!” mused Boy Blue. “Fink I’d better get one.”
He trudged into the shed, still carrying the paint-bucket; it was not so full now as when Jotham left it, and did not slop much.
There was no ladder in the shed, so he went on into the barn.
