had picked up in the kitchen. His braces were broken, so he had
continually to puff out his belly; there were hundreds of things
to look at, and the coal-merchant's dog to be kicked while, in all
good faith, he snuffed at a curbstone.

A funeral procession came toward them, and the journeyman passed
it with his head bared, so Pelle did the same. Eight at the back
of the procession came Tailor Bjerregrav with his crutch; he always
followed every funeral, and always walked light at the back because
his method of progression called for plenty of room. He would stand
still and look on the ground until the last of the other followers
had gone a few steps in advance, then he would set his crutch in
front of him, swing himself forward for a space, and then stand
still again. Then he would swing forward again on his lame legs,
and again stand still and watch the others, and again take a few
paces, looking like a slowly wandering pair of compasses which was
tracing the path followed by the procession.

But the funniest thing was that the tailor had forgotten to button
up the flap of his black mourning-breeches, so that it hung over his
knees like an apron. Pelle was not quite sure that the journeyman
had noticed this.

"Bjerregrav has forgotten--"

"Hold your jaw." Little Nikas made a movement backward, and Pelle
ducked his head and pressed his hand tightly to his mouth.

Over in Staal Street there was a great uproar; an enormously fat
woman was standing there quarrelling with two seamen. She was in