these were tied to one end of the waxed-end and were let right down
to the pavement. People collected in the street outside, and stood
there staring. Pelle had to lean right out of the window, and bend
over as far as he could, while Emil, as the oldest apprentice,
laid the waxed-end over his neck. They were all on their feet now,
with the exception of the young master; he took no part in this
diversion.

"Pull, then!" ordered the journeyman, who was directing the solemn
business. "Pull them along till they're right under your feet!"

Pelle pulled, and the heavy lasts joggled over the pavement, but he
paused with a sigh; the waxed-end was slipping over his warm neck.
He stood there stamping, like an animal which stamps its feet on the
ground, without knowing why; he lifted them cautiously and looked at
them in torment.

"Pull, pull!" ordered Jeppe. "You must keep the thing moving or it
sticks!" But it was too late; the wax had hardened in the hairs of
his nape--Father Lasse used to call them his "luck curls," and
prophesied a great future for him on their account--and there he
stood, and could not remove the waxed-end, however hard he tried.
He made droll grimaces, the pain was so bad, and the saliva ran
out of his mouth.

"Huh! He can't even manage a pair of lasts!" said Jeppe jeeringly.
"He'd better go back to the land again and wash down the cows'
behinds!"

Then Pelle, boiling with rage, gave a jerk, closing his eyes and