“If I had that man here—­”

Nicky-Nan was sharp set; indeed he had been hungry, more or less, for weeks.  But now, with the eggs and bacon wooing his nostrils, his choler arose and choked him.  He stared around the cleanly kitchen.  “And on quarter-day, ma’am, ’twill be your turn.  It beats me how you can take it so quiet.”

“I reckon,” said Mrs Penhaligon simply, looking down on the dish of eggs (which maybe suggested the image to her)—­“I reckon as the hen’s home is wherever she can gather the chickens under her wings.  Let’s be thankful we’re not like they poor folk abroad, to have our homes overrun by this War.”

“‘War’?” Nicky-Nan recollected himself with an effort.  “Seemin’ to me you’re all taken up with it.  As though there weren’t other things in this world—­”

“If only the Almighty’ll send my Sam home safe an’ well!”

But at this point Mr Penhaligon entered the kitchen, with the sea-boots dangling from his hand.  He wore his naval uniform—­that of an A.B.; blue jumper and trousers, white cinglet edged with blue around his stout throat, loose black neck-cloth and lanyard white as driven snow.  His manner was cheerful—­even ostentatiously cheerful:  but it was to be observed that his eyes avoided his wife’s.

“Hullo, naybour!” he shouted, perceiving Nicky-Nan.  “Well, now, I count this real friendly of ye, to come an’ give me the send-off.”  And indeed Nicky’s presence seemed to be a sensible relief to him.  “Haven’t ate all the eggs, I hope?  For I be hungry as a hunter. . . .  Well, so it’s War for sure, and a man must go off to do his little bit; though how it happened—­” In the act of helping himself he glanced merrily around the table.  “Eh, ’Beida, my li’l gel, what be you starin’ at so hard?”

“Father looks fine, don’t-a?” responded ’Beida, addressing the company.

“What I want to know,” said ‘Bert, “is why he couldn’ have married Mother years afore he did—­an’ then I’d have been a man an’ able to work a gun.”

“Ho!” Mr Penhaligon brought his fist down on the table with huge enjoyment.  “Hear that, my dear?  Wants to know why we didn’ marry years afore we did?” He turned to his wife, appealing to her to enjoy the joke, but hastily averted his eyes.  “Well, now, I’ll tell ye, sonny—­if it’s strictly atween you an’ me an’ the bedpost.  I asked her half a dozen times:  but she wouldn’ have me.  No:  look at me she wouldn’ till I’d pined away in flesh for her, same as you see me at present. . . .  Eh, M’ria?  What’s your version?”

Mrs Penhaligon burst into tears; and then, as her husband jumped up to console her, started to scold the children furiously for dawdling over breakfast, when goodness knew, with their clothes in such a state, how long it would take to get them ready for Chapel.

The children understood and gulped down the rest of their breakfast hastily, while their mother turned to the fireplace and set the saucepan hissing again.  Having finished this second fry, she tipped the cooked eggs on to the dish, and swept the youngsters off to be tittivated.