“Yes,” said Aunt Abigail, “sometimes it went out, and then one of the children was sent over to the nearest neighbor to borrow some fire.  He’d take a covered iron pan fastened on to a long hickory stick, and go through the woods—­everything was woods then—­to the next house and wait till they had their fire going and could spare him a pan full of coals; and then—­don’t forget the salt and pepper—­he would leg it home as fast as he could streak it, to get there before the coals went out.  Say, Betsy, I think that apple sauce is ready to be sweetened.  You do it, will you?  I’ve got my hands in the biscuit dough.  The sugar’s in the left-hand drawer in the kitchen cabinet.”

“Oh, my!” cried Betsy, dismayed. “I don’t know how to cook!”

Aunt Abigail laughed and put back a strand of curly white hair with the back of her floury hand.  “You know how to stir sugar into your cup of cocoa, don’t you?”

“But how much shall I put in?” asked Elizabeth Ann, clamoring for exact instruction so she wouldn’t need to do any thinking for herself.

“Oh, till it tastes right,” said Aunt Abigail, carelessly.  “Fix it to suit yourself, and I guess the rest of us will like it.  Take that big spoon to stir it with.”

Elizabeth Ann took off the lid and began stirring in sugar, a teaspoonful at a time, but she soon saw that that made no impression.  She poured in a cupful, stirred it vigorously, and tasted it.  Better, but not quite enough.  She put in a tablespoonful more and tasted it, staring off into space under bended brows as she concentrated her attention on the taste.  It was quite a responsibility to prepare the apple sauce for a family.  It was ever so good, too.  But maybe a little more sugar.  She put in a teaspoonful and decided it was just exactly right!

“Done?” asked Aunt Abigail.  “Take it off, then, and pour it out in that big yellow bowl, and put it on the table in front of your place.  You’ve made it; you ought to serve it.”

“It isn’t done, is it?” asked Betsy.  “That isn’t all you do to make apple sauce!”

“What else could you do?” asked Aunt Abigail.

“Well ... !” said Elizabeth Ann, very much surprised.  “I didn’t know it was so easy to cook!”

“Easiest thing in the world,” said Aunt Abigail gravely, with the merry wrinkles around her merry old eyes all creased up with silent fun.

When Uncle Henry came in from the barn, with old Shep at his heels, and Cousin Ann came down from upstairs, where her sewing-machine had been humming like a big bee, they were both duly impressed when told that Betsy had set the table and made the apple sauce.  They pronounced it very good apple sauce indeed, and each sent his saucer back to the little girl for a second helping.  She herself ate three saucerfuls.  Her own private opinion was that it was the very best apple sauce ever made.