"How do you fasten them to the thread?"

"Look here," said Hector.

He took several strands of thread together, and drew them through and
through a piece of cobbler's wax, then took a bristle and put it in
at the end cunningly, in a way Willie couldn't quite follow; and then
rolled and rolled threads and all over and over between his hand and his
leather apron, till it seemed like a single dark-coloured cord.

"There, you see, is my needle and thread all in one."

"And what is the good of rubbing it so much with the cobbler's wax?"

"There are several good reasons for doing that. In the first place, it
makes all the threads into one by sticking them together. Next it would
be worn out before I had drawn it many times through but for the wax,
which keeps the rubbing from wearing it. The wax also protects it
afterwards, and keeps the wet from rotting it. The waxed thread fills
the hole better too, and what is of as much consequence as anything, it
sticks so that the last stitch doesn't slacken before the next comes,
but holds so tight that, although the leather is very springy, it cannot
make it slip. The two pieces are thus got so close together that they
are like one piece, as you will see when I pare the joined edges."

I should tire my reader if I were to recount all the professional talk
that followed; for although Willie found it most interesting, and began
to feel as if he should soon be able to make a shoe himself, it is a
very different thing merely to read about it--the man's voice not in
your ears, and the work not going on before your eyes. But the shoemaker