Giới thiệu truyện
THE PEN-WIPERELIZA always works me some little pretty trifle for my birthday, and always has done so since the day when I led her to the hymeneal altar. But it is not done at all as a matter of course. During the days before my birthday, when she is working at the present, she keeps a clean handkerchief by her side, and flings it over the work to hide it when I enter the room. This makes it more of a surprise when the day comes. As a rule, I whistle a few bars in a careless way before entering the room, so as to give her plenty of time to get the work under the handkerchief. There is no definite arrangement about this. I merely do what good taste dictates. Last year, instead of the handkerchief, she kept a large table-napkin by her side when she was working. However, though I did not tell her so, this let the secret out. I knew that she must be doing me a pair of slippers.
This year, on my birthday, when I came down to breakfast, I found placed before me the hot-water plate with the tin cover to it—a very useful article when there happens to be an invalid in the house.
Eliza, bending down behind the tea-cosy to hide her smile, told me to be quick with my breakfast, in rather a c
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