Without personal ties and experiences and feelings among them and the recipient of their fruit cakes, Buddy and his shy friend need not fear insults or cruelty if their gifts are rejected.
Buddy's cousin, "who is still a child," has lived at home all her life under the care of relatives. Yet, in her simplicity and eccentricity, she has a delightful communion with nature and a rare sensitivity. For someone of her nature, then, habits and customs assume a powerful significance as the repetition of yearly activities brings meaning to her life.
The making and the sending of the fruitcakes carries much importance for Buddy, and especially for his cousin, who has never seen "a picture show" or been to a restaurant. By keeping scrapbooks of the thank you's on White House stationery from President Roosevelt, "time-to-time communications from California" by a young couple whose car once broke down outside the house, a missionary in Borneo, and the knife grinder's penny postcards, Buddy and his friend feel
...connected to eventful worlds beyond the kitchen with its view of sky that stops.
Then, too, Buddy wonders,
Is it because my friend is shy with everyone except strangers that these strangers, and merest acquaintances, seem to us out truest friends?
He answers his own question in the affirmative.
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