"Now," said grandmother, "we will bake our pies. What shall you do with yours?"
"I should like to take it home to show mother and father. May I?"
"Why, to be sure. They ought to have a bite of your first pie. Please, Peter, carry this pail of sugar into the pantry for me. I do not need it any more."
The pies were baked brown. As soon as hers was cool enough, Polly carried it up the hill to mother.
"See, mother," she said, "I can cook now. Grandmother let me make a pie. It is for you and father."
"How good it looks, Polly! We will try it for dinner. You have done this well. I see that I must begin to teach you to cook.
"Bread comes first. The next time I sponge bread, you may try. Your first good loaf you may take to grandmother."
"Oh, may I, mother? I want to learn to cook. Then I can cook for you and father. I watched grandmother all the morning. I helped her, too."
"So did I help grandmother," said Peter.