This was the last sad entry in that volume of Isoult’s diary. God did help the Gospellers when the morning appeared; and the morning was dawning now. There is a ringing of church-bells through all that was written in England, throughout that happy year, 1559. New Year’s Day was the gladdest Sunday since the persecution began. For at Bow Church Mr Carter ministered openly; and throughout London the Gospel and Epistle were read in English. After the evening service was over, the Averys received a visit from Annis and her husband; and before they had sat and talked for ten minutes, who should follow them but Mr Underhill, of whose return to London they had heard, but had not yet seen him.
“Is it not glorious?” were the first words he spoke. “We shall have the English service next Sunday, and the service-book restored ere February.”
“What a leaper art thou,” said John, laughing. “None that know thee need ask wherefore men call thee the Hot Gospeller!”
“But can there be any other?” answered he.
“Why,” said John, “wert thou King of England, by the name of Edward the Seventh, I reckon we had had all ere November were fairly run out. But the Queen is a little more prudent and wary than thou, and remember thou (as I bade Ferris, but he did little) that she is not a Gospeller.”
“A truce to thy wariness and prudence!” cried Mr Underhill.
“That shall be, assuredly, where thou art,” answered John.
“I have no patience,” said he, “with such faintheartedness (for I can call it by no better name). Who ever saw a Lutheran burn a Gospeller?”
“Ned Underhill,” said John, sadly, “hast thou forgot so soon that we have seen a Gospeller beheaded by Lutherans?”
“Whom point you at there?”