It was the old lady's birthday. She got up early to be ready for the post. From the second floor flat she could see the postman when he came down the street, and a little boy, Johnnie,1her letters from the ground floor on the rare 2when anything came.

    Today she was sure there would be something. Myra 3 forget her mother's birthday, even if she 4 wrote at other times. Of course Myra was busy, but 5 Enid, the daughter the old lady loved most, died two years ago. Since then Myra had seen her mother three times, but her husband, Harold, never.

    The old lady was eighty this day. She had put on her best dress. Perhaps ―perhaps Myra might come. After all, eighty was a 6 birthday, another decade lined or tolerated just as you chose to look at it.7 Myra did not come, she would send a present. The old lady was 8 of that. Two spots of colour 9 her cheeks. She was 10 like a child. She would enjoy her day!

    Now, she stood by the window,11 The postman turned round the corner on his bicycle. Her heart beat 12 Johnnie saw him too and ran to the gate. Then clatter (咔嗒声), clatter up the stairs. Johnnie knocked at her door. He had got her post four envelopes. Three were unclosed cards from old friends. The fourth was closed, in Myra's writing. The old lady felt a sharp pain of13There was no parcel for her! Maybe the parcel was too large to come by letter post. That was it. It would come later by parcel post. She said to herself. She must be14.

    Almost 15 she tore the envelope open.16 in the card was a piece of paper. Written on the card was a message under the printed Happy Birthday —Buy yourself something nice with the 17, Myra and Harold. The cheque moved quickly to the floor like a bird with a broken wing. Slowly the old lady 18 to pick it up. Her present! her 19 present! With 20 fingers she tore it into little bits.