"Everything is turning out beautifully," sighed Marjorie. "There's only one thing more that I could possibly wish for."
"What is that?" asked Constance quickly.
"My lost butterfly."
"Perhaps it will fly back home when you least expect it," consoled Constance.
"Lost pins don't fly," retorted Marjorie. "If they did my butterfly would have come back to me long ago."
But, even then, though she could not know it, her cherished butterfly was poising its golden wings for the homeward flight.