On Easter Sunday, as is the custom, nigh all the townsfolk in their best raiment flocked to the Morrow Mass in the Abbey Church, but first and earliest of all went William himself with many of his gossips, as Nicholas the Piper, Tom the Fletcher, Ned Arrowsmith and Sim the Hayward, and his two men Abel and Geoffrey. With them also went Master Brereton and his good wife, and fat Mistress Slopstone, Kate of the Cross Roads, bonny Gilly Hedgerow, and a score more of good wenches. They walked in great glee, and by the way there was talk of William’s piece of work to be seen that day. ‘Marry,’ said Nick, ‘now we shall see this handiwork of thine, which thou hast kept as secret as a priest his bastard.’ ‘By Our Lady,’ quoth Mistress Slopstone, ‘it should be a bonny loaf that has been so long in the baking.’ ‘Nay, nay,’ answered Will, ‘’tis a poor thing enough, I warrant you, a few holy figures to call folk to a better mind, nothing more.’ So they came to the church, and when they cast their eyes up at Will’s carvings, now plain to be seen, and perceived what manner of thing it was he had done, they burst into sudden laughter that they could not contain, until the tears ran down their cheeks, their sides heaved as though they would crack, and their knees began to give way under them. Even good Master Brereton, usually solemn as an owl, laughed until he was fain to bend double and grip his knees with his hands. As for Nick, he tumbled on the grass upon his back and laughed until he was weak as water or a six months’ child. ‘Thou witty devil, ha, ha,’ laughed Tom Fletcher. ‘Ah, ah, thou whoreson clever knave,’ gasped fat Mistress Slopstone, her fat old sides quivering and shaking until her stomacher burst. ‘Thou naughty--he, he, he’ laughed Mistress Kate, covering her great open mouth with her huge bony hand, while her bones rattled up and down in their skinny case. ‘Verily, William,’ said Mistress Brereton smiling heartily, ‘thou art the cunningest rogue and the best mason in England. I see a man is a right fool to fall out with thee.’ ‘A few figures of religion, figures of religion,’ quoth William, taking off his bonnet and bowing right low and gallantly. By this time other folk had come up, and shortly there was a great crowd staring and laughing at Will’s handiwork, and so loath were they to leave looking thereon, that there were few but the gravel-blind that were punctual to Mass that morning.