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. After supper was over and the dishes washed and wiped, Betsy helping with the putting-away, the four gathered around the big lamp on the table with the red cover. Cousin Ann was making some buttonholes in the shirt-waist she had constructed that afternoon, Aunt Abigail was darning socks, and Uncle Henry was mending a piece of harness. Shep lay on the couch and snored until he got so noisy they couldn’t stand it, and Cousin Ann poked him in the ribs and he woke up snorting and gurgling and looking around very sheepishly. Every time this happened it made Betsy laugh. She held Eleanor, who didn’t snore at all, but made the prettiest little tea-kettle-singing purr deep in her throat, and opened and sheathed her needle-like claws in Betsy’s dress. “Well, how’d you get on at school?” asked Uncle Henry. “I’ve got your desk,” said Elizabeth Ann, looking at him curiously, at his gray hair and wrinkled, weather-beaten face, and trying to think what he must have looked like when he was a little boy like Ralph. “So?” said Uncle Henry. “Well, let me tell you that’s a mighty good desk! Did you notice the deep groove in the top of it?” Betsy nodded. She had wondered what that was used for.