Falkenberg was right; the people at the next farm would not be outdone by their neighbours; their piano must be seen to as well. The daughter of the house was away for the moment, but the work could be done in her absence as a little surprise for her when she came home. She had often complained that the piano was so dreadfully out of tune² it was impossible to play on it at all. So now I was left to myself again as before, while Falkenberg was busy in the parlour. When it got dark he had lights brought in and went on tuning³. He had his supper in there too, and when he had finished, he came out and asked me for his pipe.

“Which pipe?”

“You fool! the one with the clenched⁴ fist, of course.”

Somewhat unwillingly⁵ I handed him my neatly⁶ carved pipe; I had just got it finished; with the nail set in and a gold ring, and a long stem.

“Don’t let the nail get too hot,” I whispered, “or it might curl up.”

Falkenberg lit the pipe and went swaggering up with it indoors. But he put in a word for me too, and got them to give me supper and coffee in the kitchen.

I found a place to sleep in the barn.

I woke up in the night, and there was Falkenberg standing⁷ 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

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