I woke up in the night, and there was Falkenberg standing close by, and calling me by name. The full moon shone right in, and I could see his face. “What's the matter now?” “Here's your pipe. Here you are, man, take it.” “Pipe?” “Yes, your pipe. I won't have the thing about me another minute. Look at it--the nail's all coming loose.” I took the pipe, and saw the nail had begun to curl away from the wood. Said Falkenberg: “The beastly thing was looking at me with a sort of nasty grin in the moonlight. And then when I remembered where you'd got that nail....” Happy Falkenberg! Next morning when we were ready to start off again, the daughter of the house had come home. We heard her thumping out a waltz on the piano, and a little after she came out and said: “It's made no end of difference with the piano. Thank you very much.” “I hope you may find it satisfactory,” said the piano-tuner grandly. “Yes, indeed. There's quite a different tone in it now.” “And is there anywhere else Frøkenen could recommend...?” “Ask the people at Øvrebø; Falkenberg's the name.” “_What_ name?” “Falkenberg. Go straight on from here, and you'll come to a post on the right-hand side about a mile and a half along. Turn off there and that'll take you to it.” At that Falkenberg sat down plump at the steps and began asking all sorts of questions about the Falkenbergs at Øvrebø. Only to think he should come across his kinsmen here, and find himself, as it were, at home again. He was profusely grateful for the information. “Thanks most sincerely, Frøken.” Then we went on our way again, and I carried the things. Once in the wood we sat down to talk over what was to be done. Was it advisable, after all, for a Falkenberg of the rank of piano-tuner to go walking up to the Captain at Øvrebø and claim relationship? I was the more timid, and ended by making Falkenberg himself a little shy of it. On the other hand, it might be a merry jest. Hadn't he any papers with his name on? Certificates of some sort? “Yes, but for _Fan_, there's nothing in them except saying I'm a reliable workman.” We cast about for some way of altering the papers a little, but finally agreed it could be better to make a new one altogether. We might do one for unsurpassed proficiency in piano-tuning and put in the Christian name as Leopold instead of Lars. [Footnote: Again substituting an aristocratic for a rustic name.] There was no limit to what we could do in that way. “Think that you can write out that certificate?” he asked. “Yes, that I can.” But now that wretched brain of mine began playing tricks, and making the whole thing ridiculous. A piano-tuner wasn't enough, I thought; no, make him a mechanical genius, a man who had solved most intricate problems, an inventor with a factory of his own.... “Then I wouldn't need to go about waving certificates,” said Falkenberg, and refused to listen any more. No, the whole thing looked like coming to nothing after all.