After the jars were counted and the breadbox had given its last nod, the pantry lights went down to a hush. The mice opened a night school of polite whispers, with crumbs as the only pupils.
We asked at the kiosk by the stairs. A woman with a paper bag of oats said her kitchen grew quieter the same evening. The crumbs greet the jar first, she told us. Then they nod to the breadbox. Only after that is anyone allowed to say goodnight, and only once.
The keeper of the cupboard pinned a note to the shelf: lessons begin when the kettle has finished, napkins are made of straw, and nobody is to raise a voice while a crumb is still practicing.
The next night a neighbor returned with a second crumb, just to hear the class say it again.