The old lady got up early to be ready for the post.Although she seldom received letters or parcels,today she was sure there would be something.Myra wouldn't forget her mother's birthday, even if she seldom wrote at other times.Of course Myra was busy.Her husband had been made Mayor, and Myra herself had got a medal for her work for the aged. The old lady was eighty today.She had put on her best dress.Perhaps Myra might come.The old lady was sure of that.Two spots of color brightened her cheeks.She was excited--like a child.She would enjoy her day. Mrs. Morrison,a social worker,had brought a card and a bunch of flowers when she came to do the breakfast.Mrs. Grant downstairs had made a cake.The little boy from the ground floor,Johnnie,had been up with a packet of candies,and offered to help her fetch the post. "I guess you'll get lots and lots of presents,"he said,I did last week when l was six." What would she like ? A pair of slippers,a table lamp,a book or a little clock.So many lovely things. She stood by the window,watching.The postman turned round the corner on his bicycle.Her heart beat fast.Johnnie had seen him too and ran to the gate.And then he gave her four envelopes.Three were unsealed cards from old friends.The fourth was sealed,in Myra's writing. "No parcel,Johnnie?" "No,granny." Maybe the parcel was too large to come by letter post.That was _ .It would come later by parcel post.She must be patient. But disappointment flooded her.She tore the envelope open unwillingly.A cheque fell to the floor like a bird with a broken, wing.Slowly the old lady bent to pick it up.With trembling fingers she tore it into little bits. The author seems to tell us that .
there is no love like that of the parent for the child to accompany our parents should be the first law of nature a mother's voice is the most beautiful sound in the world we never know the love of our parents for us till we have become parents