Bank accidentally puts $120,000 in couple’s account. They were arrested after spending it, police say. (WaPo)

First they gave us a cute Labrador puppy. We named it Rowdy. It slept in our bed and smelled like sandalwood. Children in the neighborhood came to visit us just to fondle its silken ears. In its yellow eyes we saw fields of ramrod straight sunflowers.
A box on our porch one morning, with no return address, contained nuggets of pink quartz. Each nugget was wrapped in a fresh banana leaf. Each pink crystal vibrated a simple pensive tune when exposed to sunlight, sounding like glass harps. They were warm and comforting when held in the hand.
A dark green delivery van dropped off a rosewood box in which nestled a dozen exquisite golden crickets. Their eyes were shards of ruby. When pressed gently between the thumb and forefinger the golden crickets emitted a soft click. We gave them to the children who came to stroke Rowdy's ears.
Next came a bag filled with pure white manna, which never became empty no matter how much we ate from it. The manna tasted of honey wafers and truffles. We fed some of it to Rowdy, who then began talking in French. 
"Where do you think all this stuff is coming from?" I asked my wife one day. "Is there a genie or a good fairy doing this, or what?"
"I don't know" she replied. "But some day someone will come asking for it all back -- just wait and see."
But the years went by and no one came to our door asking for any of the marvelous gifts back. 
A hat came, woven of vicuna wool and lined with chamois. Whoever wore it had the power to turn plastic bags into colored sand. 
We received a certificate giving us the official patent for the color red; money came pouring in from the makers of spaghetti sauce and firetruck manufacturers.
I'll never forget when the rake arrived. The handle felt like a Louisville Slugger and the tines were made of long thin pine cones. It not only raked up the leaves, but automatically bundled them with twine like sheaves of harvested grain. Each sheave was so beautifully stippled that we couldn't bear to send it to the landfill, so we kept them, stacked higher and higher, in the backyard against the garage. 
On a cheerless March day Rowdy lay down and died, bidding us a soft 'adieu.' Several years later my wife also died. And then the gifts stopped coming. Or maybe I just didn't notice them anymore when they arrived. Until one evening, early in spring, a man came to the door and asked for everything back.
"It was all a mistake" he told me. "You were never meant to receive any of it." 
I smiled at him. "I wish you could have met my wife" I told him, happy and sad at the same time. "She always said this day would come."
"What happened to her?" he asked in the gentlest and most loving voice I will ever hear.
"She went away to the Marmalade Fields" I told him. Before he could respond I had to ask "Could you take me to her?" 
"Sure" he said. "I can do that. But what about all the stolen merchandise you two received? It has to be accounted for."
"It's all here, I guess" I told him. "Take it back, no problem. Except for the crickets -- we gave those to some kids. And the bag of manna -- we gave that to a homeless man."
"I know" said the man on my front porch. "I was those kids and I was that homeless man." We shook hands and walked off into the night.