, anyway?"

"A good deal of difference," he answered nervously, looking into the
library (yes, Polly had gone out); "because the house, the furniture,
and the stable were burned to the ground last night,--so the morning
paper says."

Mrs. Bird rose and closed the doors. "That does seem too dreadful to
be true," she said. "The poor child's one bit of property, her only
stand-by in case of need! Oh, it can't be burned; and, if it is, it
must be insured. I 'm afraid a second blow would break her down
completely just now, when she has not recovered from the first."

Mr. Bird went out and telegraphed to Dr. George Edgerton;--

Is Oliver house burned? What was the amount of insurance, if any?
Answer.
JOHN BIRD.

At four o'clock the reply came:--

House and outbuildings burned. No insurance. Have written
particulars. Nothing but piano and family portraits saved.
GEORGE EDGERTON.

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