“There!” said Aunt Abigail, opening the window. “That’s not so good as the one at school. This only tells when noon is.” Elizabeth Ann stared stupidly at the deep scratch on the window-sill. “Don’t you see?” said Aunt Abigail. “When the shadow got to that mark it was noon. And the rest of the time you guessed by how far it was from the mark. Let’s see if I can come anywhere near it now.” She looked at it hard and said: “I guess it’s half-past four.” She glanced back into the kitchen at the clock and said: “Oh pshaw! It’s ten minutes past five! Now my grandmother could have told that within five minutes, just by the place of the shadow. I declare! Sometimes it seems to me that every time a new piece of machinery comes into the door some of our wits fly out at the window! Now I couldn’t any more live without matches than I could fly! And yet they all used to get along all right before they had matches. Makes me feel foolish to think I’m not smart enough to get along, if I WANTED to, without those little snips of pine and brimstone. Here, Betsy, take a cooky. It’s against my principles to let a child leave the pantry without having a cooky. My! it does seem like living again to have a young one around to stuff!” Betsy took the cooky, but went on with the conversation by exclaiming, “HOW could ANY-body get along without matches? You HAVE to have matches.” Aunt Abigail didn’t answer at first. They were back in the kitchen now. She was looking at the clock again. “See here,” she said; “it’s time I began getting supper ready. We divide up on the work. Ann gets the dinner and I get the supper. And everybody gets his own breakfast. Which would you rather do, help Ann with the dinner, or me with the supper?” Elizabeth Ann had not had the slightest idea of helping anybody with any meal, but, confronted unexpectedly with the alternative offered, she made up her mind so quickly that she didn’t want to help Cousin Ann, and declared so loudly, “Oh, help YOU with the supper!” that her promptness made her sound quite hearty and willing. “Well, that’s fine,” said Aunt Abigail. “We’ll set the table now. But first you would better look at that apple sauce. I hear it walloping away as though it was boiling too fast. Maybe you’d better push it back where it won’t cook so fast. There are the holders, on that hook.” Elizabeth Ann approached the stove with the holder in her hand and horror in her heart. Nobody had ever dreamed of asking her to handle hot things. She looked around dismally at Aunt Abigail, but the old woman was standing with her back turned, doing something at the kitchen table. Very gingerly the little girl took hold of the handle of the saucepan, and very gingerly she shoved it to the back of the stove. And then she stood still a moment to admire herself. She could do that as well as anybody!