“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 superstitious 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.