not well; but I was soon assured of that. For my father having
quickly enough of a Quaker's company, left John Rance in the hall,
and came into the kitchen, where he was more surprised to find me.

The sight of my hat upon my head made him presently forget that I
was that son of his whom he had so lately lamented as lost; and his
passion of grief turning into anger, he could not contain himself,
but running upon me with both his hands, first violently snatched
off my hat and threw it away, then giving me some buffets on my
head, he said, "Sirrah, get you up to your chamber."

I forthwith went, he following me at the heels, and now and then
giving me a whirret on the ear, which, the way to my chamber lying
through the hall where John Rance was, he, poor man, might see and
be sorry for (as I doubt not but he was), but could not help me.

This was surely an unaccountable thing, that my father should but a
day before express so high a sorrow for me, as fearing he should
never see me any more, and yet now, so soon as he did see me, should
fly upon me with such violence, and that only because I did not put
off my hat, which he knew I did not put on in disrespect to him, but
upon a religious principle. But as this hat-honour (as it was
accounted) was grown to be a great idol, in those times more
especially, so the Lord was pleased to engage His servants in a
steady testimony against it, what suffering soever was brought upon
them for it. And though some who have been called into the Lord's
vineyard at later hours, and since the heat of that day hath been
much over, may be apt to account this testimony a small thing to
suffer so much upon, as some have done, not only to beating, but to
fines and long and hard imprisonments; yet they who, in those times