A childhood belief about sweeties

When I was 5-8, I used to spend quite a bit of my spare time at my grand-parents' and we'd often take the car to reach a nearby forest where they knew I'd have a great time admiring the trees and playing hide'n'seek.
During the ride, I'd usually sit on the left side of the back seat, right behind my grand-father who was driving, and my grand-mother would sit on my right-hand side (my then-teenage aunt had decided once and for all that she belonged on the front seat, next to her father).
At first, when I happened to be a good boy, gran'ma would show her "approval" by picking up a piece of candy from her handbag and handing it to me with a gentle smile. After a while, this protocol evolved in that she'd let *me* pick up the candy of my choice from her handbag --a subtle mark of trust. Eventually, as she became confident that I wouldn't abuse this treasure trove, she made it a habit of letting her handbag sit slightly open between the two of us: I made careful efforts to control my craving, and only every once in a while, when I felt it was ok, would I stealthily slide my hand into the bag towards the pouch I knew was home to my favorite candy.
There weren't many of them, but that usually sufficed. Yet, as it went on, I progressively noticed that if I took care to leave some of them in the pouch, there'd more to enjoy the next time; whereas if I ate'em all they'd turn out much scantier.
Thus, I began to wonder if they had the magical ability to reproduce. Of course, Gran'ma's subtlety somewhat escaped my juvenile understanding, and, as I'd never ever seen her refill the pouch, my belief grew stronger.
I began respecting those candies, always leaving a couple of them in the pouch, trusfully letting them a fair chance to multiply until the next ride. And it worked ;)
Well, I've since grown up with kids of my own, but I still remember those days with a spark of magic glittering deep in my eyes.