"How'd you know, Master Ben?" cried Jane, in astonishment, remembering how she had become possessed of the news which yet couldn't have travelled through the house.
"Never mind, what is it?" demanded Ben, sharply. "Be quick now, Jane; you might as well tell us first as last."
"O me!" cried Jane, deserting the apron-end to wring her hands desperately, "I wish I hadn't listened. Oh, I can't tell you, don't make me!"
"Jane," Ben leaned over her as well as he could for Polly hanging to him, "you've just got to tell us, so you might as well be quick about it. Don't you see you're only making us feel worse?"
As Ben wasn't given to long speeches, Jane had time to look up in surprise at his face, and then she made up her mind to tell the whole story.
"If you must know—but don't let 'em blame me 'cause I told you," she burst out.
"You shan't be blamed," promised Ben. "Go on."
"Well, there's been a fire at the school, and Master Jasper's hurt, burned, I guess, and—"
"Ben!" a voice rang through the hall.
"O mercy me!" Jane bounded to her feet, seized her feather duster, which implement she had been wielding when the fatal telegram had been handed in, and scuttled down the back hall.