“The best in England, and in the matter of breakfast England is the Earthly Paradise,” replied Hood readily. “I can’t think why we should descend to boast of the British Empire when we have bacon and eggs to boast of. They ought to be quartered on the Royal Arms: three pigs passant and three poached eggs on a chevron. It was bacon and eggs that gave all that morning glory to the great English poets; it must have been a man who had a breakfast like this who could rise with that giant gesture: ‘Night’s candles are burnt out; and jocund day----’” “Bacon did write Shakespeare, in fact,” said the Colonel. “This sort of bacon did,” answered the other laughing; then, noticing the girl within earshot, he added: “We are saying how good your bacon is, Miss Hardy.” “It is supposed to be very good,” she said with legitimate pride, “but I am afraid you won’t get much more of it. People aren’t going to be allowed to keep pigs much longer.” “Not allowed to keep pigs!” ejaculated the Colonel in astonishment. “By the old regulations they had to be away from the house, and we’ve got ground enough for that, though most of the cottagers hadn’t. But now they say the law is evaded, and the county council are going to stop pig-keeping altogether.” “Silly swine,” snorted the Colonel. “The epithet is ill-chosen,” replied Hood. “Men are lower than swine when they do not appreciate swine. But really I don’t know what the world’s coming to. What will the next generation be like without proper pork? And, talking about the next generation, what has become of your young friend Pierce? He said he was coming down, but he can’t have come by that train.” “I think Captain Pierce is up there, sir,” said Joan Hardy in a correct voice, as she unobtrusively withdrew. Her tone might have indicated that the gentleman was upstairs, but her momentary glance had been towards the blue emptiness of the sky. Long after she was gone, Owen Hood remained staring up into it, until he saw the aeroplane darting and wheeling like a swallow. “Is that Hilary Pierce up there?” he inquired, “looping the loop and playing the lunatic generally. What the devil is he doing?” “Showing off,” said the Colonel shortly, and drained his pewter mug. “But why should he show off to us?” asked Hood. “He jolly well wouldn’t,” replied the Colonel. “Showing off to the girl, of course.” Then after a pause he added: “A very nice girl.” “A very good girl,” said Owen Hood gravely. “If there’s anything going on, you may be sure it’s all straight and serious.” The Colonel blinked a little. “Well, times change,” he said. “I suppose I’m old-fashioned myself; but speaking as an old Tory, I must confess he might do worse.” “Yes,” replied Hood, “and speaking as an old Radical, I should say he could hardly do better.”