By that time, Mary Jane felt as important as any cook in the land. She washed the apples. Grandmother hadn't said to do that, but Mary Jane was sure it should be done. Then she took the bowl and the corer over to where Grandmother was working with her strawberries.
"Hold the apple so," said Grandmother, showing just how an apple should be cored, "and turn the corer so—see if you can do the next, Mary Jane."
Mary Jane could. Not as quickly as Grandmother had done it, of course, but she did it just the same and set it into the bowl as Grandmother had done.
"Now comes the fun part," said Grandmother; "your mother used to love to fix apples I remember."
"Did she do 'em just like me?" asked Mary Jane.
"Just exactly," said Grandmother. "Get a cup of sugar from the bin; and a teaspoon of cinnamon from that brown box over there and the pat of butter you'll find on the pantry shelf. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together and fill up the holes in the apples with it—there's your spoon, dear."
Grandmother went on with her work and Mary Jane stirred the sugar and cinnamon and filled up the apples—it was lots of fun, she didn't wonder her mother had liked to do it! Then Grandmother showed her how to put a lump of butter on the top of each apple—"just like a hat, Grandmother!" exclaimed Mary Jane delightedly—and set the bowl in the oven by the potatoes.
"Now can you set the table?" asked Grandmother.
"'Deed yes," said Mary Jane proudly; "I do that for Mother."
"I thought so," replied Grandmother. "I won't have to show you about that."