"Well, I own, I like to see things decent," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "I desire not to have back the Popish albs and such like superstitious gauds--not I: but I do like to see a parson in a clean white surplice, and I would be right sorry were it laid aside." Cousin _Bess_ said nought, but wagged her head, and tare her flannel in twain. "Now, I dare be bound, _Bess_, thou countest me gone half-way back to _Rome_," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "That were nigh the _Via Mala_," quoth _Father_. "Eh, Mistress _Joyce_, I'll judge no man, nor no woman," makes answer Cousin _Bess_. "The Lord looketh on the heart; and 'tis well for us He doth, for if we were judged by what other folk think of us, I reckon we should none of us come so well off. But them white flying kites be rags of _Popery_, that _will_ I say,--yea, and stand to." "Which side be you, _Father_?" asks _Anstace_. "Well, my lass," saith he, "though I see not, mine own self, the Pope and all his Cardinals to lurk in the folds of Dr _Meade's_ white surplice, and I am bound to say his tall, portly figure carrieth it off rarely, yet I do right heartily respect _Bess_ her scruple, and desire to abstain from that which she counteth the beginnings of _evil_." "Now, I warrant you, _Bess_ shall reckon that, of carrying it off well, to be the lust of the eye," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "She's a bit of a _Mennonite_, is _Bess_." "Eh, Mistress _Joyce_, pray you, give me not such an ill word!" saith Cousin _Bess_, reproachfully. "I never cared for Mammon, not I. I'd be thankful for a crust of bread and a cup of water, and say grace o'er him with _Amen_." We all laughed, and _Father_ saith-- "Nay, _Bess_, thou takest _Joyce_ wrong. In that of the _Mennonites_, she would say certain men of whom _Mynheer_ told us a few days gone, that should think all things pleasurable and easeful to be wrong." "Good lack, Mistress _Joyce_, but I'm none so bad as that!" saith _Bess_. "I'm sure, when I make gruel for whoso it be, I leave no lumps in, nor let it burn neither." "No, dear heart, thou art only a _Mennonite_ to thyself, not to other folk," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Thou shouldst be right well content of a board for thy bed, but if any one of us had the blanket creased under our backs, it should cost thee thy night's rest. I know thee, _Bess Wolvercot_." "Well, and I do dearly love to see folk comfortable," quoth she. "As for me, what recketh? I thank the Lord, my health is good enough; and a very fool were I to grumble at every bit of discomfort. Why, only do think, Mistress _Joyce_, how much worser I might have been off! Had I been born of that country I heard Master _Banaster_ a-telling of, where they never see the sun but of the summer, and dwell of huts full o' smoke, with ne'er a chimney--why, I never could see if my face were clean, nor my table rubbed bright. Eh, but I wouldn't like that fashion of living!" "They have no tables in _Greenland_ for to rub, _Bess_," quoth _Hal_.