"It's gettin' all these idees that drives me distracted.
'Tain't that I go huntin' 'em; they come to me, hittin' me broadside
like as if they'd been shot out of a gun. There's times," ambled on
the quiet voice, "when they'll wake me out of a sound sleep an' give me
no peace 'til I've got up and 'tended to 'em. That notion of hitchin'
a string to the slide in the stove door so'st you could open the
draught without stirrin' out of your chair--that took me in the night.
There warn't no waitin' 'til mornin'! Long ago I learned that. Once
the idee has a-holt of me there's nothin' to do but haul myself out of
bed, even if it's midnight an' colder'n the devil, an' try out that
notion."
"The plan was a good one; it's saved lots of steps," put in Celestina.
"It had to be done, Tiny," Willie answered simply. "That's all there
was to it. Good or bad, I had to carry it to a finish if I didn't
sleep another wink that night."
The assertion was true; Celestina could vouch for that. After ten
years of residence in the gray cottage she had become too completely
inured to hearing the muffled sound of saw and hammer during the wee
small hours of the night to question the verity of the statement.
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