"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. "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."