Falkenberg went up to the farmer at once and offered to pay for our lodging. We had come in late the night before, he explained, and didn't like to wake folk out of their beds, but we were no runaways for all that. The man would not take our money; instead he gave us coffee in the kitchen. But he had no work for us; the harvest was in, and he and his lad had nothing to do themselves now but mend their fences here and there. XIII We tramped three days and found no work, but had to pay for our food and drink, getting poorer every day. “How much have you got left, and how much have I got left? We'll never get any great way at this rate,” said Falkenberg. And he threw out a hint that we'd soon have to try a little stealing. We talked it over a bit, and agreed to wait and see how things turned out. Food was no difficulty, we could always get hold of a fowl or so at a pinch. But ready money was the thing we really needed, and that we'd have to get. If we couldn't manage it one way, we'd have to manage another. We didn't set up to be angels. “I'm no angel out of heaven alive,” said Falkenberg. “Here am I now, sitting around in my best clothes, and they no better than another man's workaday things. I can give them a wash in a stream, and sit and wait till they're dry; if there's a hole I mend it, and if I chance to earn a bit extra some day, I can get some more. And that's the end of it.” “But young Erik said you were a beggar to drink.” “That young cock. Drink--well, of course I do. No sense in only eating.... Let's look about for a place where there's a piano,” said Falkenberg. I thought to myself: a piano on a place means well-to-do folk; that's where he is going to start stealing. In the afternoon we came to just such a place. Falkenberg had put on my town clothes beforehand, and given me his sack to carry so he could walk in easily, with an air. He went straight up to the front steps, and I lost sight of him for a bit, then he came out again and said yes, he was going to tune their piano. “Going to _what?_” “You be quiet,” said Falkenberg. “I've done it before, though I don't go bragging about it everywhere.” He fished out a piano-tuner's key from his sack, and I saw he was in earnest. I was ordered to keep near the place while he was tuning. Well, I wandered about to pass the time; every now and then coming round to the south side of the house, I could hear Falkenberg at work on the piano in the parlour, and forcibly he dealt with it. He could not strike a decent chord, but he had a good ear; whenever he screwed up a string, he was careful to screw it back again exactly where it was before, so the instrument at any rate was none the worse.