The Butterflies came in with advice. Marigold Leathersham was dubious about
the wisdom of the plan, but brought a pillow of antique rose point, filled
with ostrich plumes.

Mrs. Holm Boddy rushed over with a copy of _Poems Every Expectant Mother
Ought to Know_, and Lotta Munn sent a card of diamond safety pins.

Iva Payne, the hateful thing, sent a Cubist picture of an infant falling
downstairs, but Warble couldn't make it out so its pre-natal influence
didn't amount to much.

Daisy Snow, innocent child, sent a beautiful edition of _How to Tell Your
Young_, a treatise of the bird-and-bee-seed-and-pollen school, and Faith
Loveman sent her own marked copy of _Cooks that Have Helped Me_.

But Warble made a face at them all, and gave their books to the Salvation
Army and read the Diary of Maggot Somebody.

* * * * *

Another fate slather.

The baby was twins.

That was the way things came to Warble--fate in big chunks--destiny in
cloudbursts.

Two little red Petticoats all at once to hang on the ancestral tree.