"He looked at it, blank, and then he remembered.
"'My daddy,' he says. 'My daddy told me to give it to folks. I forgot.'
"'To folks?' I says. 'To what folks?'
"'To whoever ask' me anything,' he answers. 'Is it a letter?' he ask'.
"'Yes,' I says, thoughtful, 'it's a letter.'
"'To tell me what to do?' he ask' me.
"'Yes,' I says, 'but more, I guess, to tell us what to do.'
"I talked with him a little longer, so's to get his mind off the paper; and then I told him to set still a minute, and I slipped out to where the rest was.
"The pantry had a close, spicey, foody smell of a pantry at night, when every tin chest and glass jar may be full up with nice things to eat that you'd forgot about—cocoanut and citron and cinnamon bark. In grown-up folks one of the things that is the last to grow up is the things a pantry in the evening promises. You may get over really liking raisins and sweet chocolate; you may get to wanting to eat in the evening things that you didn't use' to even know the names of and don't know them now, and yet it never gets over being nice and eventive to go out in somebody's pantry at night, especially a pantry that ain't your own.