“Call you,” said Dudley, “the accidental shaping of a ruff, or the manner of disposing of the folds of my galligaskins, an imitation of a prelatical model?”

“And call you,” retorted Endicott, “the requiring of people vowed to the Lord, to dress themselves in a plain and unpretentious manner, a burden too heavy to be borne?”

“Gentlemen,” said Winthrop, “ye be both in the right, Procul dubio, it becomes us, of all men, to apparel ourselves in a sober manner, as thus protesting against the foolish vanities of the world, and yet is it in some sort a burden, to be required to change the fashion of our garments.”

“I perceive, already, with much sadness of heart,” said Endicott, “a declension in that strictness of regimen which marked the earlier time.  Have ye not heard of the godly man who, long time, had been prisoner at Norwich for the cause, and was by Judge Cook set at liberty?  Now, this man, desiring to go into the Low Countries by ship from Yarmouth, did turn into the house of an ancient woman in the city, who had been very kind and helpful to him in his sufferings, in order to return thanks, and she knowing his voice, made him welcome.  But when he was ready to depart, she came up to him and felt of his band, (for her eyes were dim with age,) and perceiving it was somewhat stiffened with starch, she was much displeased, and reproved him very sharply, fearing God would not prosper his journey.  Yet was the man a plain countryman, clad in grey russet, without either welt or guard, (as the proverb is,) and the band he wore scarce worth three pence, made of their own homespinning.  What would such professors, if they were now living, say to the excess of our times?”

“Thy tale,” said Dudley, a little sarcastically, “reproaches thine own band.”

“I did instance this case,” replied Endicott, slightly abashed, “not as acknowledging myself literally bound to accept it as a guide for mine own conduct, but for the wholesome admonition therein contained.”

“That is to say,” returned Dudley, “inasmuch as it jumps not with thy humor, thou wilt none of it; but being fitted, as thou conceivest, to reproach us withal, thou dost accept it.”  But having sufficiently annoyed the other, he added, by way of makepeace, “there is one custom which my soul abhors, and against the which I desire with thee, Master Endicott, to bear my testimony, and that is the coming of women unveiled into the congregation.  I remember that the venerable Countess of Lincoln had a falling veil to conceal her features, when she came into the house of the Lord, to worship with his people.”

In spite of himself, a smile passed over the face of Winthrop, as it did also over those of several Assistants.

“What excites your risibles, gentlemen,” asked Dudley, severely.  “I trust that I am not the subject of your mirth.”

“For me, sir,” said Master Simon Bradstreet, on whom the eyes of the deputy happened to rest at the conclusion of the sentence, “if thou desirest an answer, I will crave permission first to inquire, if this discreet lady, who, from thy epithet, I infer to be somewhat advanced in life, was preeminently distinguished for beauty?”