A glance at Master Drayton's workshop would have told the stranger that the country was in a period of transition, for there were tall steeple-crowned hats such as were fashionable in the time of the Lord-Protector Cromwell, but there were quite as many low and broad-brimmed, that would be adorned with a long ostrich feather before they were placed in the fashionable shop window; and Master Drayton often thought of the changes he had seen during the last few years. But Puritan and Cavalier alike were united in their hatred of Quakers, and it seemed as though they would surely be exterminated between the two. Yet they all worshipped the same God and Father in heaven, and professed to love and serve the same Lord and Saviour who had died to redeem them. Some such thoughts as these were passing through the hatter's mind as he stood silently directing the labours of one of his 'prentice lads; for even in the workshop the Quaker rule of silence, where words were not actually needed, held full sway, and so, except for the movement of fingers and tools, and the slight noise thus caused, this hat factory was as silent as a church. "Thee must be more careful not to waste," was Master Drayton's only word of reproof to a clumsy lad who had just spoiled a hat he was making; but the words were so gravely spoken, that the lad reproved felt heartily sorry for his stupidity, and wished he could repair the mischief he had wrought. When the dinner bell rang, master and apprentices took off their aprons, washed their hands at the pump outside the door, and then went to the fresh sanded dining-room, where Dame Drayton and the two little girls had already taken their seats, with Deborah, the matronly maid-of-all work. There was a silent pause before the meal was served, but no spoken words of prayer broke the silence. The plain but bountiful repast was eaten without a word being spoken beyond what was needful, and yet it was by no means a dull and gloomy family gathering. Dame Drayton, from her place at the foot of the table, beamed upon her husband and his apprentices as though they had been honoured guests, and the little girls smiled gravely but sweetly, seconding their mother's welcome. There were little courteous nods and smiles too, as the bright pewter plates were passed to the master to be filled, the boys forgetting their hunger in their eagerness to see their mistress served first. Deborah might sometimes grudge the labour of making up so much bread, but as she looked at the boys and noted how they enjoyed their meals, she felt content. Mistress and maid often interchanged looks of amused interest, as pies, puddings, and pasties vanished before the healthy appetites.