His mouth began to work as it always did when he was engaged in some severe mental problem, but he frowned apologetically once more as he spoke.
"Well, Wid, I know, I know.

It ain't maybe just the thing to sleep on the floor all the time, noways.

You see, I got a bunk frame made for her over there, and it's all tight and strong--it was there when I took this cabin over from the Swede.

But I ain't never just got around to moving my bed offen the floor onto the bedstead.

I may do it some day.
Fact is, I was just a-going to do it anyways." "Just a-going to--like hell you was! You been a-going to move that bed for four years, to my certain knowledge, and I know that in that time you ain't shuk it out or aired it onct, or made it up." "How do you know I ain't made her up ?" demanded Sim Gage, his knife arrested in its labors.
"Well, I know you ain't.