"Why doesn't this apple go right?" said Florence. "It wabbles around so and—there!—it has gone bouncing off to the other side of the kitchen; how provoking!"
"It is a sort of 'skew-jawed' one," pronounced Dimple. "I can never do anything with those on the parer. Pick out the ones that are perfectly round and smooth, and they will go all right. I wonder how much shortening I ought to put in. Does that look like enough to you?"
Florence viewed the pan critically. "I don't know," she replied, doubtfully. "I don't believe I know much about it; it looks like a pretty big lump."
"Oh, I'll call it enough," decided Dimple. "There, it is ready to roll out. Somehow, it doesn't roll very easily."
"Let me try," offered Florence, who, having finished paring the apples, was watching her cousin.
"It is not easy," she said, after banging away with the rolling-pin. "Maybe Bubbles can do it; her arms are stronger;" and, after this third effort, some sort of crust was ready, with which to line the pan.
"It seems pretty thick," Dimple declared, looking at it with a dissatisfied eye; "but it is the best we can do."
"Oh, it will taste all right," encouraged Florence. "Now for the apples; what else, Dimple?"
"Sugar, and little bits of butter and—what else? Oh, yes, a little sprinkling of flour. Now the top goes on, and it can go into the oven. I wonder how long it will take to bake. It is one o'clock, and I am beginning to get hungry.
"The oven isn't very hot," she presently pronounced. "Put some more wood in, Bubbles. Oh, what is the matter, Florence?" as an exclamation made her turn in her cousin's direction.