"Even so, my liege," was the dejected reply, "the tribes of the North are known to no man as yet."
"Passing strange!" mused the Queen, running a critical eye over the printed page before her. "Your talk, and that of others, hath been only of wild, copper-colored savages, living in rude huts and wearing only skins. Sure such as these have not types and printing-presses! What is this book, Lady Rebecca?"
"That's a newspaper, ma'am. Don't you have 'em in London? They come out every day an' people pay a penny apiece fer 'em."
Elizabeth flashed a stern glance upon her visitor.
"'Twere best not go too far, my lady," she said, harshly. "E'en traveller's tales must in some sort ape the truth at least. Now, prithee, to what end is such a pamphlet printed—why, 'tis endless!"
"I'll shet right up, Mis' Tudor, ef ye think I'm tellin' wrong stories," said Rebecca, indignantly. "Thet's a newspaper an' thet's all there is to it."
Elizabeth evaded the issue and turned now to the illustrations.
"These be quaint-wondrous images!" she said. "Pray, what now may this be? Some fantastic reverie limned for amusement?"
Rebecca jumped up again and peered over the Queen's shoulder.
"Why, thet's a picture of the troops marchin' down Broadway, in New York City. See, it's all explained in print underneath it."