“It's a new kind of saw he's messing about with,” said Falkenberg. “But it's too heavy to be any good.” I made no answer to that, but craftily preferred to be wronged. Was it not the fate of all inventors to be so misjudged? Only wait: my time was not yet come. There were moments when I could hardly keep from bursting out with a revelation to the girls, of how I was really a man of good family, led astray by desperation over an unhappy love affair, and now taking to drink. Alas, yes, man proposes, God disposes.... And then, perhaps, Fruen herself might come to hear of it.... “I think I'll take to going over with the men in the evenings,” said Falkenberg, “the same as you.” And I knew well enough why Falkenberg had suddenly taken it into his head to spend his evenings there; he was not asked to sing now as often as before; some way or other, he was less in demand of late. XVIII The Captain had returned. A big man, with a full beard, came out to us one day while we were at work, and said: “I'm Captain Falkenberg. Well, lads, how goes it?” We greeted him respectfully, and answered: “Well enough.” Then there was some talk of what we had done and what remained to do. The Captain was pleased with our work--all clean cut and close to the root. Then he reckoned out how much we had got through per day, and said it came to a good average. “Captain's forgetting Sundays.” said I. “That's true,” said he. “Well, that makes it over the average. Had any trouble at all with the tools? Is the saw all right?” “Quite all right.” “And nobody hurt?” “No.” Pause. “You ought by rights to provide your own food,” he said, “but if you would rather have it the other way, we can square it when we come to settle up.” “We'll be glad to have it as Captain thinks best.” “Yes,” agreed Falkenberg as well. The Captain took a turn up through the wood and came back again. “Couldn't have better weather,” he said. “No snow to shovel away.” “No, there's no snow--that's true; but a little more frost'd do no harm.” “Why? Cooler to work in d'you mean?” “That, too, perhaps; yes. But the saw cuts easier when timber's frozen.” “You're an old hand at this work, then?” “Yes.” “And are you the one that sings?” “No, more's the pity. He is the one that sings.” “Oh, so you are the singer, are you? We're namesakes, I believe?” “Why, yes, in a way,” said Falkenberg, a little awkwardly, “My name is Lars Falkenberg, and I've my certificate to show for that.” “What part d'you come from?” “From Trøndelagen.” The Captain went home. He was friendly enough, but spoke in a short, decisive way, with never a smile or a jesting word. A good face, something ordinary.