"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.
"I have burned my hand," said Florence, trying hard not to cry. "I
wanted to look at the fire, and when I lifted the lid, the steam from
the kettle came just where I put my hand. I didn't know steam could
burn so."
"It is worse than anything else," informed Dimple. "It is too bad. I'll
get something to put on it, to take the burn out."
"Kar'sene's mighty good," suggested Bubbles.
"Yes, and so is flour; and linseed oil is good; that will be the best,"
and the bottle being brought, the wounded hand was bound up and
Florence retired from action and sat on the step watching the others,
while she nursed her hurt.
"Let me see," went on Dimple, bustling about.
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