She observed the process with interest, but not with approval.
"All that time spent over cooking a few slices of bacon!" she said with the womanly air of one sniffing, when it was transferred from the frying-pan to the dish.
Pollyooly's brow puckered in a thoughtful frown; and she said gravely: "But that's the only way to get it right." Mrs.Wilson sniffed outright.
After his breakfast the Honourable John Ruffin departed to Littlestone to golf; and Pollyooly and the Lump went down to the sands.

There are no niggers, pierrots, or bands at Pyechurch, only a few donkeys and a cocoanut-shy.

But at low tide there are a thousand acres of firm sand, a children's paradise.

Pollyooly enjoyed it beyond words: not only the sands and the sea but also the freedom from care.

Food, excellent food and plenty of it, awaited them, paid for, at Mrs.Wilson's.
The Lump was the cause of Pollyooly's first introduction to fellow-sojourners in this delectable land.