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.