“Eli’s assistant is bringing Tuki here soon. You don’t mind if the parrot stays for a few days, do you, Mother?”

Jolly Solly’s mother’s apple pies were famous. Every few weeks she would pull out her trusty mixing bowl and get to work on a new batch.

One pie would go to Mr. Krankowitz. He always complained it wasn’t as good as his mother’s apple pies. Then he would finish it down to the last crumb.

A pile of pies would go to the Children’s Home.

The rest went to anyone needing to be cheered up.

Jolly Solly helped his mother by peeling the apples, lightning fast. As soon as he was done, though, she’d send him out of the kitchen. Otherwise, he’d start juggling the peeler, corer, and anything else.

“Go off on one of your mitzvah errands,” she would say, smiling.

Jolly Solly would walk off grinning, whistling a merry tune.

One fine afternoon, it was time for another baking session. Jolly Solly got to work peeling apples at top speed.

He looked at his watch.

“Eli’s assistant is bringing Tuki here soon. You don’t mind if the parrot stays for a few days, do you, Mother?”

“Of course not,” she replied. She took sugar and oil out of the cabinet. “He’s nice company… not like that dreadful monkey with his tricks.”