“No, sir,” they cried, unanimously.
And at that the Vicar hastened forward, courteously greeting the young Parliamentarian, and exclaiming eagerly, “Sir, the answer of the people of Bosbury is true. None of my people are so foolish as to bow to sticks or stones. I humbly hope that they have learnt better than that.”
“’Tis a lie!” shouted Waghorn. “A lie! How about old Jock? How about Billy Blunt?”
“Old Jock,” explained the Vicar to the Captain, “had been brought up a Papist, and I admit that he did superstitiously nod his head when he passed the cross; he is now bedridden. As for Billy, he, poor lad, is an idiot, and ’tis impossible to reason with him.”
But explanations could not satisfy Waghorn.
“Down with all idolatrous symbols!” he shouted. “Down with the cross!”
And his vehemence and excitement proved infectious, for now the soldiers and a few of the spectators caught up the cry, and the churchyard rang with shouts of “Ay! down with it! down with it!” while the villagers began to press forward in an uncertain way, scarcely knowing what to think.
The Vicar rushed between the cross and the soldiers as though to guard it from attack, and turned with outstretched arms to his parishioners.
“I tell you, good people,” he said, in his ringing, manly voice, “that this cross was set up by early Christians. Beneath it there lies buried the ancient stone which was worshipped in heathen times. This is no idol, but a witness to the truth.”
“Don’t heed the Vicar! Obey the word of God!” shouted Waghorn. “Break it in pieces like a potter’s vessel!”