I'm lying on my back in my grandfather'sorchard , looking up at the branches above me. It is one of the last days of summer. Already the days are shorter and the nights are cooler. Some kinds of apples are alreadyripe . Others will be ready to pick soon. I think of my grandmother's apple pie, and how I used to make it with her. She died last year, before the apple harvest, and I have not had her pie since then. I really miss her. I hear bees busily humming about, visiting the late summer flowers. The gentle hum of their wings nearly sends me to sleep. The sky is as blue as my grandfather's eyes. Above me, big white clouds ran across the sky like pieces of cotton blowing in the wind. School starts in another week, and time seems to have slowed down. "Sophie!" calls my grandfather. "Is that you?" I stand up, take his hand, and tell him all about my day as we walk through the orchard. We talk about apples, and bees and Grandma. He tells me that he misses her too. He puts his rough, brown farmer's hand around my shoulder and pulls me close. " You know, Sophie," he says, " I spent the morning in the attic  , and you'll never guess what I found. It's the recipe  for Grandma's apple pie. I used to help her make it sometimes. I can't do it all alone, but you used to help her too. Maybe between the two of us, we can work it out. Want to try?" " But it won't be the same without Grandma," I tell him. "That's true," he says, "but _ . Still, I don't think that she would want us never to have another apple pie. What do you say?" I nod yes, and we walk towards home...toward an afternoon in the farmhouse kitchen, making Grandma's famous apple pie. Which of the following might be the best title for the passage?
My grandfather's orchard My grandmother's apple pie A morning in the attic The last days of summer