flew to the ground and he had the great tin cover in his hand--
_chin-da-da-da chin-da-da-da!_ Suddenly by a stroke of magic
the flute had turned into a drum and cymbals!

Pelle was doubled up with laughter: then he looked in alarm at the
knee-strap and again burst out laughing; but no one took any notice
of him. The master's fingers and wrist were dancing a sort of
devil's dance on the tin cover, and all of a sudden his elbows too
were called into requisition, so that the cover banged against the
master's left knee, bounced off again and quick as lightning struck
against his wooden heel, which stuck out behind him; then against
Pelle's head, and round about it went, striking the most improbable
objects, _dum, dum, dum_, as though in wild, demoniacal
obedience to the flute-like tones of the journeyman. There was no
holding back. Emil, the oldest apprentice, began boldly to whistle
too, cautiously at first, and then, as no one smacked his head,
more forcefully. Then the next apprentice, Jens--the music-devil,
as he was called, because anything would produce a note between his
fingers--plucked so cleverly at his waxed-end that it straightway
began to give out a buzzing undertone, rising and falling through
two or three notes, as though an educated bumble-bee had been
leading the whole orchestra. Out of doors the birds came hopping on
to the apple-boughs; they twisted their heads inquisitively to one
side, frantically fluffed out their feathers, and then they too
joined in this orgy of jubilation, which was caused merely by a
scrap of bright blue sky. But then the young master had an attack
of coughing, and the whole business came to an end.

Pelle worked away at his cobbler's wax, kneading the pitch and
mixing grease with it. When the black lump was on the point of