In an hour another message, marked “Collect,” followed the first one:—­

House burned last night.  Defective flue.  No carelessness on part of servants or family.  Piano, portraits, ice-cream freezer, and wash-boiler saved by superhuman efforts of husband.  Have you any instructions?  Have taken to my bed.  Accept love and sympathy. 
        CLEMENTINE CHADWICK GEEENWOOD.

So it was true.  The buildings were burned, and there was no insurance.

I know you will say there never is, in stories where the heroine’s courage is to be tested, even if the narrator has to burn down the whole township to do it satisfactorily.  But to this objection I can make only this answer:  First, that this house really did burn down; secondly, that there really was no insurance; and thirdly, if this combination of circumstances did not sometimes happen in real life, it would never occur to a story-teller to introduce it as a test for heroes and heroines.

“Well,” said Mrs. Bird despairingly, “Polly must be told.  Now, will you do it, or shall I?  Of course you want me to do it!  Men never have any courage about these things, nor any tact either.”

At this moment the subject of conversation walked into the room, hat and coat on, and an unwonted color in her cheeks.  Edgar Noble followed behind.  Polly removed her hat and coat leisurely, sat down on a hassock on the hearth rug, and ruffled her hair with the old familiar gesture, almost forgotten these latter days.

Mrs. Bird looked warningly at the tell-tale yellow telegrams in Mr. Bird’s lap, and strove to catch his eye and indicate to his dull masculine intelligence the necessity of hiding them until they could devise a plan of breaking the sad news.

Mrs. Bird’s glance and Mr. Bird’s entire obliviousness were too much for Polly’s gravity.  To their astonishment she burst into a peal of laughter.

  “’My lodging is on the cold, cold ground,
  And hard, very hard is my fare!’”

she sang, to the tune of “Believe me, if all those endearing young charms.”  “So you know all about it, too?”

“How did you hear it?” gasped Mrs. Bird.

“I bought the evening paper to see if that lost child at the asylum had been found.  Edgar jumped on the car, and seemed determined that I should not read the paper until I reached home.  He was very kind, but slightly bungling in his attentions.  I knew then that something was wrong, but just what was beyond my imagination, unless Jack Howard had been expelled from Harvard, or Bell Winship had been lost at sea on the way home; so I persisted in reading, and at last I found the fatal item.  I don’t know whether Edgar expected me to faint at sight!  I ’m not one of the fainting sort!”

“I ’m relieved that you can take it so calmly.  I have been shivering with dread all day, and Jack and I have been quarreling as to which should break it to you.”