(Lack-a-day! shall that cost me two pence?)

"They were not retained," repeateth _Father_, "but the clergy took to ministering in their gowns and other common apparel, such as they ware every day, with no manner of vestments of no sort. Whereupon, such negligence being thought unseemly, it pleased the Queen's Majesty, sitting in her Council, and with consent of the Archbishop and Bishops, to issue certain injunctions for the better ordering of the Church: to wit, that at all times of their ministration the clergy should wear a decent white surplice, and no other vestment, nor should minister in their common apparel as aforetime."

"Then the rubric touching the garments as worn under King _Edward_ was done away?" saith _Mynheer_.

"Done away completely," quoth _Hal_, afore _Father_ could speak.

"But not by Parliament?" answers _Mynheer_.

"Good lack, what matter?" saith _Hal_. "The Queen's Majesty is supreme in this Church of _England_. If she issue her injunctions through her great Council, or her little Council, or her Bishops, they are all one, so they be her true injunctions."

"These were issued through the Bishops," saith _Father_, "though determined on in the Privy Council."

"Then did the ministers not obey?" asks _Mynheer_.

"Many did. But some counted the surplice a return towards Popery, and utterly refused to wear it. I mind [remember] there was a burying at that time at Saint _Giles'_ Church in _London_, without [outside]

_Cripplegate_, where were six clerks that ware the white surplice: and Master _Crowley_, the Vicar, stood in the church door to withstand their entering, saying that no such superst.i.tious rags of _Rome_ should come into his church. There should have been a bitter tumult there, had not the clerks had the wit to give way and tarry withoutside the door. And about the same time, a _Scots_ minister did preach in _London_ right vehemently against the order taken for the apparel of ministers. Why, at Saint _Mildred's_ in _Bread_ Street, where a minister that had conformed was brought of the worshipful of that parish for the communion service, he was so withstood by the minister of the church and his adherents, that the Deputy of the Ward and other were fain to stand beside him in the chancel to defend him during the service, or the parson and his side should have plucked him down with violence. And at long last," saith _Father_, laughing, "the _Scots_ minister that had so inveighed against them was brought to conform; but no sooner did he show himself in the pulpit of Saint _Margaret Pattens_ in a surplice, than divers wives rose up and pulled him forth of the pulpit, tearing his surplice and scratting his face right willingly."

"Eh, good lack!" cries _Mynheer_. "Your women, they keep silence in the churches after such a manner?"

"There was not much silence that morrow, I warrant," quoth _Hal_, laughing right merrily.

"Eh, my gentlemen, I pray you of pardon," saith Cousin _Bess_, looking up earnestly from her flannel, "but had I been in yon church I'd have done the like thing. I'd none have scrat his face, but I'd have rent a good tear in that surplice."

"Thou didst not so, _Bess_, the last _Sunday_ morrow," quoth _Father_, laughing as he turned to look at her.

"Nay, 'tis all done and settled by now," saith she. "I should but get took up for brawling. But I warrant you, that flying white thing sticketh sore in my throat, and ever did. An' I had my way, no parson should minister but in his common coat."

"But that were unseemly and undecent, _Bess_," quoth Aunt _Joyce_.

"Nay, Mistress _Joyce_, but methinks 'tis a deal decenter," answers she.

"Wherefore, if a man can speak to me of earthly things in a black gown, must he needs don a white when he cometh to speak to me of heavenly things? There is no wit in such stuff."

"See you, _Mynheer_," saith _Father_, again laughing, "even here in _Selwick_ Hall, where I trust we be little given to quarrel, yet the clocks keep not all one time."

"Eh! No!" saith _Mynheer_, shrugging of his shoulders and smiling.

"The gentlewomen, they be very determined in their own opinions."

"Well, I own, I like to see things decent," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "I desire not to have back the Popish albs and such like superst.i.tious gauds--not I: but I do like to see a parson in a clean white surplice, and I would be right sorry were it laid aside."

Cousin _Bess_ said nought, but wagged her head, and tare her flannel in twain.

"Now, I dare be bound, _Bess_, thou countest me gone half-way back to _Rome_," saith Aunt _Joyce_.

"That were nigh the _Via Mala_," quoth _Father_.

"Eh, Mistress _Joyce_, I'll judge no man, nor no woman," makes answer Cousin _Bess_. "The Lord looketh on the heart; and 'tis well for us He doth, for if we were judged by what other folk think of us, I reckon we should none of us come so well off. But them white flying kites be rags of _Popery_, that _will_ I say,--yea, and stand to."

"Which side be you, _Father_?" asks _Anstace_.

"Well, my la.s.s," saith he, "though I see not, mine own self, the Pope and all his Cardinals to lurk in the folds of Dr _Meade's_ white surplice, and I am bound to say his tall, portly figure carrieth it off rarely, yet I do right heartily respect _Bess_ her scruple, and desire to abstain from that which she counteth the beginnings of _evil_."

"Now, I warrant you, _Bess_ shall reckon that, of carrying it off well, to be the l.u.s.t of the eye," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "She's a bit of a _Mennonite_, is _Bess_."

"Eh, Mistress _Joyce_, pray you, give me not such an ill word!" saith Cousin _Bess_, reproachfully. "I never cared for Mammon, not I. I'd be thankful for a crust of bread and a cup of water, and say grace o'er him with _Amen_."

We all laughed, and _Father_ saith--

"Nay, _Bess_, thou takest _Joyce_ wrong. In that of the _Mennonites_, she would say certain men of whom _Mynheer_ told us a few days gone, that should think all things pleasurable and easeful to be wrong."

"Good lack, Mistress _Joyce_, but I'm none so bad as that!" saith _Bess_. "I'm sure, when I make gruel for whoso it be, I leave no lumps in, nor let it burn neither."

"No, dear heart, thou art only a _Mennonite_ to thyself, not to other folk," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Thou shouldst be right well content of a board for thy bed, but if any one of us had the blanket creased under our backs, it should cost thee thy night's rest. I know thee, _Bess Wolvercot_."

"Well, and I do dearly love to see folk comfortable," quoth she. "As for me, what recketh? I thank the Lord, my health is good enough; and a very fool were I to grumble at every bit of discomfort. Why, only do think, Mistress _Joyce_, how much worser I might have been off! Had I been born of that country I heard Master _Banaster_ a-telling of, where they never see the sun but of the summer, and dwell of huts full o'

smoke, with ne'er a chimney--why, I never could see if my face were clean, nor my table rubbed bright. Eh, but I wouldn't like that fashion of living!"

"They have no tables in _Greenland_ for to rub, _Bess_," quoth _Hal_.

"Nor o'er many clean faces, I take it," saith _Father_.

"Ah! did you hear, Sir," saith _Mynheer_, "of Mynheer _Heningsen's_ voyage to _Greenland_ the last year?"

"I have not, _Mynheer_," saith _Father_. "Pray you, what was notable therein?"

"Ah! he was not far from the coast of _Greenland_, when he found the ship go out of her course. He turned the rudder, or how you say, to guide the ship--I am not sea-learned, I ask your pardon if I mistake-- but the ship would not move. Then they found, beneath a sunken rock, and it was--how you say?--magnetical, that drew to it the iron of the ship. Then Mynheer _Heningsen_, he look to his charts, for he know no rock just there. And what think you he found? Why, two hundred years back, exactly--in the year of our Lord 1380, there were certain _Venetians_, the brothers _Zeni_, sailing in these seas, and they brought word home to _Venice_ that on this very spot, where _Heningsen_ found nothing but a sunken rock, they found a beautiful large island, where were one hundred villages, inhabited by _Christian_ people, in a state of great civility [civilisation], but so simple and guileless that hardly you can conceive. Think you! nothing now but a sunken rock."

"But what name hath the island?" asks _Hal_.

"No name at all. No eyes ever saw it but the brothers _Zeni_ of _Venice_."

"Nay, _Mynheer_, I cry you mercy," saith _Father_ of his thoughtful fashion. "If the brothers _Zeni_ told truth (as I mean to signify no doubt), there was One that saw it, from the time when He p.r.o.nounced all things very good, to the day when some convulsion of nature, whatso it were, by His commandment engulfed that fair isle in the waters.

'Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He,--in heaven, and in earth, and in the sea, and in all deep places.' Not one hair from the head of those unknown _Christians_, that were _Christians_ in truth, perished in those North waters. We shall know it when we meet them in the Land that is very far off."

SELWICK HALL, OCTOBER YE x.x.xI.

Mine hand was so weary when I was come to the last sentence afore this, that I set down no more. Truly, there was little at after that demerited the same.

And now I be come to the end of my month, I have been a-reading over what I writ, to see how much I must needs pay. There be but two blots, the which shall be so many pence: and two blank s.p.a.ces of one week or over, the which at two pence each brings the account to sixpence. I cannot perceive that I have at any time writ disrespectfully of my betters--which, I take it, be _Father_, and _Mother_, and Aunt _Joyce_, and Cousin _Bess_, and Mynheer _Stuyvesant_, But for speaking unkindly of other, I fear I am not blameless. I can count six two-pences, which shall be one shilling and sixpence. I must try and do better when my month cometh round again. Verily, I had not thought that I should speak unkindly six times in one month! 'Tis well to find out a body's faults.

So now I pa.s.s my book over to _Milly_--and do right earnestly desire that she may be less faultful than I. What poor infirm things be we, in very sooth!

Note 1. Francois Duke of Anjou, who visited the Queen in September, 1579, to urge his suit. Elizabeth hesitated for some time before she gave a decided negative.

CHAPTER THREE.

MILISENT MAKES A FRIEND.