How The Queen Read Her Newspaper

: The Panchronicon

For Rebecca, left alone in the goldsmiths' city house, the past night

and day had been a period of perplexity. She had been saved from any

serious anxiety by the arrival of a messenger soon after Phoebe's

departure, who had brought her word that her "mistress" was safe in the

Peacock Inn, and had left a verbal message commanding her to come with

him at once to rejoin her.



This command she naturally refuse to comply with, and sent word to the

much-puzzled man-servant that she wasn't to be "bossed around" by her

younger sister, and that if Phoebe wanted to see her she knew where to

find her. This message was delivered to old Mistress Burton, who

refrained from repeating it to her step-daughter. For her own ends, she

thought it best to keep Mistress Mary from her nurse, whose influence

seemed invariably opposed to her own.



Left thus alone, Rebecca had had a hitherto unequalled opportunity for

reflection, and the result of her deliberations was most practical.

Whatever might be said of the inhabitants of London in general, it was

clear to her mind that poor Phoebe was mentally unbalanced.



The only remedy was to lure her into the Panchronicon, and regain the

distant home they ought never to have left.



The first step to be taken was therefore to rejoin Copernicus and see

that all was in readiness. It was her intention then to seek her sister

and, by humoring her delusion and exercising an appropriately benevolent

cunning, to induce her to enter the conveyance which had brought them

both into this disastrous complication. The latter part of this

programme was not definitely formed in her mind, and when she sought to

give it shape she found herself appalled both by its difficulties and by

the probable twists that her conscience would have to undergo in putting

her plan into practice.



"Well, well!" she exclaimed at length. "I'll cross that bridge when I

come to it. The fust thing is to find Copernicus Droop."



It was at about eleven o'clock in the morning of the day after

Phoebe's departure that Rebecca came to this audible conclusion, and

she arose at once to don her jacket and bonnet. This accomplished, she

gathered up her precious satchel and umbrella and approached her

bed-room window to observe the weather.



She had scarcely fixed her eyes upon the muddy streets below her when

she uttered a cry of amazement.



"Good gracious alive! Ef there ain't Copernicus right this minute!"



Out through the inner hall and down the stairs she hurried with short,

shuffling steps, impatient of the clinging rushes on the floor.

Speechless she ran past good Mistress Goldsmith, who called after her in

vain. The only reply was the slam of the front door.



Once in the street, Rebecca glanced sharply up and down. The man she

sought was not in sight, but she shrewdly counted upon his having turned

into Leadenhall Street, toward which she had seen him walking. Thither

she hurried, and to her infinite gratification she saw, about a hundred

yards ahead, the unmistakable trousers, coat, and Derby hat so familiar

on the person of Copernicus Droop.



"Hey!" she cried. "Hey, there, Mister Droop! Copernicus Droop!"



She ended with a shrill, far-carrying, long-drawn call that sounded much

like a "whoop." Evidently he heard her, for he started, looked over his

shoulder, and then set off with redoubled speed, as though anxious to

avoid her.



She stopped short for a moment, paralyzed with astonishment.



"Well!" she exclaimed. "If I ever! I suppose it's a case of 'the wicked

flee,' but he can't get away from me as easy's that."



And then began a race the like of which was never seen before. In

advance, Francis Bacon scurried forward as fast as he dared without

running, dreading the added publicity his rapid progress was sure to

bring upon him, yet dreading even more to be overtaken by this amazing

female apparition, in whose accents and intonation he recognized another

of the Droop species.



Behind Bacon came Rebecca, conspicuous enough in her prim New England

gown and bonneted head, but doubly remarkable as she skipped from stone

to stone to avoid the mud and filth of the unpaved streets, and swinging

in one hand her little black satchel and in the other her faithful

umbrella.



From time to time she called aloud: "Hey, stop there! Copernicus Droop!

Stop, I say! It's only Rebecca Wise!"



The race would have been a short one, indeed, had she not found it

impossible to ignore the puddles, rubbish heaps, and other obstacles

which half-filled the streets and obstructed her path at every turn.

Bacon, who was accustomed to these conditions and had no impeding skirts

to check him, managed, therefore, to hold his own without actually

running.



These two were not long left to themselves. Such a progress could not

take place in the heart of England's capital without forming in its

train an ever-growing suite of the idle and curious. Ere long a rabble

of street-walkers, beggars, pick-pockets, and loafers were stamping

behind Rebecca, repeating her shrill appeals with coarse variations, and

assailing her with jokes which, fortunately for her, were worded in

terms which her New England ears could not comprehend.



In this order the two strangely clad beings hurried down toward the

Thames; he in the hope of finding a waterman who should carry him beyond

the reach of his dreaded persecutors; she counting upon the river, which

she knew to lie somewhere ahead, to check the supposed Copernicus in his

obstinate flight.



To the right they turned, through St. Clement's Lane into Crooked Lane,

and the ever-growing mob clattered noisily after them, shouting and

laughing a gleeful chorus to her occasional solo.



Leaving Eastcheap and its grimy tenements, they emerged from New Fish

Street and saw the gleam of the river ahead of them.



At this moment one of the following crowd, more enterprising than his

fellows, ran close up behind Rebecca and, clutching the edge of her

jacket, sought to restrain her.



"Toll, lass, toll!" he shouted. "Who gave thee leave to run races in

London streets?"



Rebecca became suddenly fully conscious for the first time of the

sensation she had created. Stopping short, she swung herself free and

looked her bold assailant fairly in the face.



"Well, young feller," she said, with icy dignity, "what can I do fer

you?"



The loafer fell back as she turned, and when she had spoken, he turned

in mock alarm and fled, crying as he ran:



"Save us--save us! Ugly and old as a witch, I trow!"



Those in the background caught his final words and set up a new cry

which boded Rebecca no good.



"A witch--a witch! Seize her! Stone her!"



As they now hung back momentarily in a new dread, self-created in their

superstitious minds, Rebecca turned again to the chase, but was sorely

put out to find that her pause had given the supposed Droop the

advantage of a considerable gain. He was now not far from the river

side. Hoping he could go no farther, she set off once more in pursuit,

observing silence in order to save her breath.



She would apparently have need of it to save herself, for the stragglers

in her wake were now impelled by a more dangerous motive than mere

curiosity or mischief. The cry of "Witch" had awakened cruel depths in

their breasts, and they pressed forward in close ranks with less noise

and greater menace than before.



Two or three rough fellows paused to kick stones loose from the clay of

the streets, and in a few moments the all-unconscious Rebecca would have

found herself in a really terrible predicament but for an accident

seemingly without bearing upon her circumstances.



Without warning, someone in the upper story of one of the houses near by

threw from a window a pail of dirty water, which fell with a startling

splash a few feet in front of Rebecca.



She stopped in alarm and looked up severely.



"I declare to goodness! I b'lieve the folks in this town are all plumb

crazy! Sech doin's! The idea of throwin' slops out onto the road! Why,

the Kanucks wouldn't do that in New Hampshire!"



Slipping her bag onto her left wrist, she loosened the band of her

umbrella and shook the ribs free.



"Lucky I brought my umbrella!" she exclaimed. "I guess it'll be safer

fer me to h'ist this, ef things is goin' to come out o' windows!"



All unknown to her, two or three of the rabble behind her were in the

act of poising themselves with great stones in their hands, and their

muscles were stiffening for a cast when, just in the nick of time, the

obstinate snap yielded, and with a jerk the umbrella spread itself.



Turning the wide-spread gloria skyward, Rebecca hurried forward once

more, still bent upon overtaking Copernicus Droop.



That simple act saved her.



A mere inactive witch was one thing--a thing scarce distinguishable from

any other old woman. But this transformation of a black wand into a

wide-spreading tent was so obviously the result of magic, that it was

self-evident they had to do with a witch in full defensive and offensive

state.



Stones fell from deadened hands and the threatening growls and cries

were lost in a unanimous gasp of alarm. A moment's pause and

then--utter rout. There was a mad stampede and in a trice the street was

empty. Rebecca was alone under that inoffensive guardian umbrella.



To her grief, she found no one on the river's brim. He whom she sought

was half-way across, his conveyance the only wherry in sight,

apparently. Having passed beyond the houses, Rebecca now folded her

umbrella and looked carefully about her. To her great relief, she caught

sight of a man's figure recumbent on a stone bench near at hand. A pair

of oars lay by him and betrayed his vocation.



She stepped promptly to his side and prodded him with her umbrella.



"Here, mister!" she cried. "Wake up, please. What do you charge for

ferryin' folks across the river?"



The waterman sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Then, without looking

at his fare, he led the way to his boat without reply. He was chary of

words, and after all, did not all the world know what to pay for

conveyance to Southwark?



Rebecca gazed after him for a moment and then, shaking her head

pityingly, she murmured:



"Tut--tut! Deef an' dumb, poor man! Dear, dear!"



To hesitate was to lose all hope of overtaking the obstinate Copernicus.

So, first pointing vigorously after the retreating boat with closed

umbrella, and with many winks and nods which she supposed supplied full

meaning to her gestures, she stepped into the wherry, and the two at

once glided out on the placid bosom of the Thames.



Far different was the spectacle that greeted her then from that which

may now be witnessed near London Bridge. In those days that bridge was

alone visible, not far to the East, and the tide that moves now so

darkly between stone embankments beneath a myriad of grimy steamers,

then flowed brightly between low banks and wooden wharves, bearing a

gliding fleet of sailing-vessels. To the south were the fields and woods

of the open country, save where loomed the low frame houses and the

green-stained wharves of Southwark village. Behind Rebecca was a vast

huddle of frame buildings, none higher than three stories, sharp of

gable overhanging narrow streets, while here a tower and there a steeple

stood sentinel over the common herd. To the east the four great stone

cylinders of the Tower, frowning over the moving world at their feet,

loomed grimly then as now.



Rebecca had fixed her eyes at first with a fascinated stare on this

mighty mass of building, penetrated by a chill of fear, although

ignorant of its tragic significance. Turning after a minute or two from

contemplation of that gloomy monument of tyrannical power, she gazed

eagerly forward again, bent upon keeping sight of the man she was

pursuing.



He and his boat had disappeared, but her disappointment was at once

lost in admiring stupefaction as she gazed upon a magnificent craft

bearing across the bows of her boat and coming from the direction of

Westminster.



The hull, painted white, was ornamented with a bold arabesque of gilding

which seemed to flow naturally in graceful lines from the garment of a

golden image of Victory mounted high on the towering prow.



From the deck at the front and back rose two large cabins whose sides

were all of brilliant glass set between narrow panels on which were

paintings, which Rebecca could not clearly distinguish from where she

was sitting.



At the waist, between and below the cabins, ten oars protruded from each

side of the barge, flashing rhythmically as they swept forward together,

seeming to sprinkle drops of sunlight into the river.



The splendor of this apparition, contrasting as it did with the small

and somewhat dingy craft otherwise visible above the bridge, gave a new

direction to Rebecca's thoughts and forced from her an almost

involuntary exclamation.



"For the lands sakes!" she murmured. "Whoever in the world carries on in

sech style's that!"



The waterman looked over his shoulder, and no sooner caught sight of the

glittering barge than, with a powerful push of his oars, he backed water

and brought his little boat to a stand.



"The Queen!" he exclaimed.



Rebecca glanced at the boatman with slightly raised brows.



"Thought you was deef an' dumb," she said. Then, turning once more to

the still approaching barge, she continued: "An' so thet's Queen

Victoria's ship, is it?"



"Victoria!" growled the waterman. "Ye seem as odd in speech as in dress,

mistress. Who gave ye license to miscall our glorious sovereign?"



Rebecca's brows were knit in a thoughtful frown and she scarce knew what

her companion said. The approach of the Queen suggested a new plan of

action. She had heard of queens as all-powerful rulers, women whose

commands would be obeyed at once and without question, in small and

personal things as in matters of greater moment. Of Queen Victoria, too,

some accounts had reached her, and all had been in confirmation of that

ruler's justice and goodness of heart.



Rebecca's new plan was therefore to appeal at once to this benign

sovereign for aid, entreat her to command the Burtons to release

Phoebe and to order Copernicus Droop to carry both sisters back to

their New England home. This course recommended itself strongly to the

strictly honest Rebecca, because it eliminated at once all necessity for

"humoring" Phoebe's madness, with its implied subterfuges and

equivocations. The moment was propitious for making an attempt which

could at least do no harm, she thought. She determined to carry out the

plan which had occurred to her.



Standing up in the boat: "What's the Queen's last name?" she asked.



"Be seated, woman!" growled the waterman, who was growing uneasy at

sight of the increasing eccentricity of his fare. "The Queen's name is

Elizabeth, as well ye know," he concluded, more gently. He hoped to

soothe the woman's frenzy by concessions.



"Now, mister," said Rebecca, severely, "don't you be sassy to me, fer I

won't stand it. Of course, I don't want her first name--she ain't hired

help. What's the Queen's family name--quick!"



The waterman, now convinced that his fare was a lunatic, could think of

naught better than to use soothing tones and to reply promptly, however

absurd her questions. "I' faith," he said, in a mild voice, "I' faith,

mistress, her Gracious Majesty is of the line of Tudor. Methought----"



But he broke off in horror.



Waving her umbrella high above her head, Rebecca, still standing upright

in the boat, was calling at the top of her voice:



"Hallo there! Mrs. Tudor! Stop the ship, will ye! I want to speak to

Mrs. Tudor a minute!"



All nature seemed to shiver and shrink in silence at this enormous

breach of etiquette--to use a mild term. Involuntarily the ten pairs of

oars in the royal barge hung in mid-air, paralyzed by that sudden

outrage. The great, glittering structure, impelled by momentum, glided

forward directly under the bows of Rebecca's boat and not a hundred

yards away.



Again Rebecca's cry was borne shrill and clear across the water.



"Hallo! Hallo there! Ain't Mrs. Tudor on the ship? I want to speak to

her!" Then, turning to the stupefied and trembling waterman:



"Why don't you row, you? What's the matter, anyway? Don't ye see they've

stopped to wait fer us?"



Someone spoke within the after cabin. The command was repeated in gruff

tones by a man's voice, and the ten pairs of oars fell as one into the

water and were held rigid to check the progress of the barge.



"Wherry, ahoy!" a hail came from the deck.



"Ay, ay, sir!" the waterman cried.



"Come alongside!"



"Ay, ay, sir!"



Pale and weak with dread, the boatman pulled as well as he could toward

the splendid vessel ahead, while Rebecca resumed her seat, quite

satisfied that all was as it should be.



A few strokes of the oars brought them to the barge's side, and

Rebecca's waterman threw a rope to one of the crew.



A young man in uniform glowered down upon them, and to him the waterman

turned, pulling off his cap and speaking with the utmost humility.



"The jade is moon-struck, your worship!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "I would

not for a thousand pound----"



"Moon-struck!" snapped the lieutenant. "Who gave thee commission to

ferry madmen, fellow?"



The poor waterman, at his wits' end, was about to reply when Rebecca

interposed.



"Young man," she said, standing up, "I'll thank you to 'tend to

business. Is Mrs. Victoria Tudor at home?"



At this moment a young gentleman, magnificently apparelled, stepped

forth from the after cabin and approached the man in uniform.



"Lieutenant," he said, "her Majesty commands that the woman be brought

before her in person. As for you," he continued, turning to the

waterman, "return whence you came, and choose your fares better

henceforth."



Two of the barge's crew extended each a hand to Rebecca.



"Bend onto that, Poll!" said one, grinning.



"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Rebecca. "I never see sech impident help in

all my born days! Ain't ye got any steps for a body to climb?"



A second gorgeously dressed attendant backed hastily out of the cabin.



"Look alive!" he said, peremptorily. "Her Majesty waxes impatient. Where

is the woman?"



"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the sailors. "Here she be!"



They leaned far forward and, grasping the astonished Rebecca each by a

shoulder, lifted her quickly over the rail.



The first gentleman messenger beckoned to her and started toward the

cabin.



"Follow me!" he said, curtly.



Rebecca straightened her skirt and bonnet, shook her umbrella, and

turned quietly to the rail, fumbling with the catch of her bag.



"I pity yer manners, young man!" she said, coldly. Then, with some

dismay:



"Here you, mister, don't ye want yer money?"



But the waterman, only too glad to escape at all from being involved in

her fate, was pulling back to the northern shore as fast as his boat

would go.



"Suit yourself," said Rebecca, simply. "Saves me a dime, I guess."



Turning then to the impatient gentleman waiting at the door:



"Guess you're one o' the family, ain't ye? Is your ma in, young man?"



Fortunately her full meaning was not comprehended, and the person

addressed contented himself with drawing aside the heavy curtain of

cloth of gold and motioning to Rebecca to precede him.



She nodded graciously and passed into the cabin.



"That's better," she said, with an ingratiating smile. "Good manners

never did a mite o' harm, did they?"



Before following her, the messenger turned again to the young

lieutenant.



"Give way!" he said.



At once the sweeps fell together, and the great barge resumed its course

down the river.



As Rebecca entered the glass and gold enclosure, she was at first quite

dazzled by the crowd of gorgeously arrayed courtiers who stood in two

compact groups on either side of her. Young and old alike, all these men

of the sword and cloak seemed vying one with another for precedence in

magnificence and foppery. The rarest silks of every hue peeped forth

through slashed velvets and satins whose rustling masses bedecked men of

every age and figure. Painted faces and ringed ears everywhere topped

snowy ruffles deep and wide, while in every hand, scented gloves, fans,

or like toys amused the idle fingers.



In the background Rebecca was only vaguely conscious of a group of

ladies in dresses of comparatively sober pattern and color; but seated

upon a luxurious cushioned bench just in front of the others, one of her

sex struck Rebecca at once as the very centre and climax of the

magnificence that surrounded her.



Here sat Elizabeth, the vain, proud, tempestuous daughter of "bluff King

Hal." Already an old woman, she yet affected the dress and carriage of

young maidenhood, possessing unimpaired the vanity of a youthful beauty,

and, despite her growing ugliness, commanding the gallant attentions

that gratified and supported that vanity.



Her face, somewhat long and thin, was carefully painted, but not so

successfully as to hide the many wrinkles traced there by her sixty-five

years. Her few blackened teeth and her false red hair seemed to be

mocked by the transcendent lustre of the rich pearl pendants in her

ears. Her thin lips, hooked nose, and small black eyes betokened

suppressed anger as she glared upon her admiring visitor; but, far from

being alarmed by the Queen's expression, Rebecca was only divided

between her admiration of her magnificent apparel and blushing

uneasiness at sight of the frankly uncovered bosom which Elizabeth

exhibited by right of her spinsterhood. Rebecca remembered ever

afterward how she wished that "all those men" would sink through the

floor of the cabin.



The Queen was at first both angry at the unheard-of language Rebecca had

used, and curious to see what manner of woman dared so to express

herself. But now that she set eyes upon the outlandish garb of her

prisoner, her curiosity grew at the expense of her wrath, and she sat

silent for some time while her little black eyes sought to explore the

inmost depths of Rebecca's mind.



Rebecca, for her part, was quite unconscious of having infringed any of

the rules of courtly etiquette, and, without expressing her belief in

her complete social equality with the Queen or anyone else present, was

so entirely convinced of this equality that she would have deemed a

statement of it ridiculously superfluous.



For a few moments she stood in the middle of the open space immediately

before the Queen, partly dazed and bewildered into silence, partly

expectant of some remark from her hostess.



At length, observing the grimly rigid aspect of the silent Queen,

Rebecca straightened herself primly and remarked, with her most formal

air: "I s'pose you are the Queen, ma'am. You seem to be havin' a little

party jest now. I hope I'm not intruding but to tell ye the truth, Mrs.

Tudor, I've got into a pretty pickle and I want to ask a little favor of

you."



She looked about to right and left as though in search of something.



"Don't seem to be any chairs around, only yours," she continued. Then,

with a quick gesture of the hand: "No, don't get up. Set right still

now. One o' your friends here can get me a chair, I guess," and she

looked very meaningly into the face of a foppish young courtier who

stood near her, twisting his thin yellow beard.



At this moment the rising wonder of the Queen reached a climax, and she

burst into speech with characteristic emphasis.



"What the good jere!" she cried. "Hath some far planet sent us a

messenger. The dame is loyal in all her fantasy. Say, my Lord of

Nottingham, hath the woman a frenzy, think you?"



The gentleman addressed stood near the Queen and was conspicuous for his

noble air. His prominent gray eyes under rounded brows lighted up a

long, oval face surmounted by a high, bald forehead. The long nose was

aquiline, and the generous, full-lipped mouth was only half hidden by a

neatly trimmed full blond beard. Rebecca noticed his dress particularly

as he stepped forward at the Queen's summons, and marvelled at the two

doublets and heavy cape coat over which hung a massive gold chain

supporting the brilliant star of some order. She wondered how he could

breathe with that stiff ruff close up under his chin and inclined

downward from back to front.



Dropping on one knee, Nottingham began his reply to the Queen's inquiry,

though ere he finished his sentence he rose to his feet again at a

gracious sign from his royal mistress.



"May it please your Majesty," he said, "I would humbly crave leave to

remove the prisoner from a presence she hath nor wit nor will to

reverence. Judicial inquiry, in form appointed, may better determine

than my poor judgment whether she be mad or bewitched."



This solemn questioning of her sanity produced in Rebecca's mind a

teasing compound of wrath and uneasiness. These people seemed to find

something fundamentally irregular in her behavior. What could it be? The

situation was intolerable, and she set to work in her straightforward,

energetic way to bring it to an end.



Stepping briskly up to the astonished Earl of Nottingham, she planted

herself firmly before him, turning her back upon Elizabeth.



"Now look a-here, Mr. Nottingham," she said, severely, "I'd like to know

what in the world you see that's queer about me or my ways. What's the

matter, anyway? I came here to make a quiet call on that lady," here she

pointed at the Queen with her umbrella, "and instead of anybody bringin'

a chair, or sayin' 'How d'ye do,' the whole raft of ye hev done nothin'

but stare or call me loony. I s'pose you're mad because I've interrupted

your party, but didn't that man there invite me in? Ef you're all so

dreadful particler, I'll jest get out o' here till Mrs. Tudor can see me

private. I'll set outside, ef I can find a chair."



With an air of offended dignity she stalked toward the door, but turned

ere she had gone ten steps and continued, addressing the assembled

company collectively:



"As fer bein' loony, I can tell you this. Ef you was where I come from

in America, they'd say every blessed one of ye was crazy as a hen with

her head off."



"America!" exclaimed the Queen, as a new thought struck her. "America!

Tell me, dame, come you from the New World?"



"That's what it's sometimes called in the geographies," Rebecca stiffly

replied. "I come from Peltonville, New Hampshire, myself. Perhaps I'd

ought to introduce myself. My name's Rebecca Wise, daughter of Wilmot

and Nancy Wise, both deceased."



She concluded her sentence with more of graciousness than she had shown

in the beginning, and the Queen, now fully convinced of the innocent

sincerity of her visitor, showed a countenance of half-amused,

half-eager interest.



"Why, Sir Walter," she cried, "this cometh within your province,

methinks. If that this good woman be an American, you should be best

able to parley with her and learn her will."



A dark-haired, stern-visaged man of middle height, dressed less

extravagantly than his fellows, acknowledged this address by advancing

and bending one knee to the deck. Here was no longer the gay young

courtier who so gallantly spoiled a handsome cloak to save his

sovereign's shoes, but the Raleigh who had fought a hundred battles for

the same mistress and had tasted the bitterness of her jealous cruelty

in reward.



There was in his pose and manner, however, much of that old grace which

had first endeared him to Elizabeth, and even now served to fix her

fickle favor.



"Most fair and gracious Majesty," he said in a low, well-modulated

voice, turning upward a seeming fascinated eye, "what Walter Raleigh

hath learned of any special knowledge his sovereign hath taught him, and

all that he is is hers of right."



"'Tis well, my good knight," said Elizabeth, beckoning with her slender

finger that he might rise. "We know your true devotion and require now

this service, that you question this stranger in her own tongue

concerning her errand here and her quality and estate at home."



As Raleigh rose and advanced toward Rebecca, without turning away from

the Queen, the half-bewildered American brought the end of her umbrella

sharply down upon the floor with a gesture of impatience.



"What everlastin' play-actin' ways!" she snapped. Then, addressing Sir

Walter: "Say, Mr. Walter," she continued, "ef you can't walk only

sideways, you needn't trouble to travel clear over here to me. I'll come

to you."



Suiting the action to the word, Rebecca stepped briskly forward until

she stood in front of the rather crestfallen courtier.



He rallied promptly, however, and marshalling by an effort all he could

remember of the language of the red man, he addressed the astonished

Rebecca in that tongue.



"What's that?" she said.



Again Sir Walter poured forth an unintelligible torrent of syllables

which completed Rebecca's disgust.



With a pitying smile, she folded her hands across her stomach.



"Who's loony now?" she said, quietly.



Raleigh gazed helplessly from Rebecca to the Queen and back again from

the Queen to Rebecca.



Elizabeth, who had but imperfectly heard what had passed between the

two, leaned forward impatiently.



"What says she, Raleigh?" she demanded. "Doth she give a good account?"



"Good my liege," said Raleigh, with a despairing gesture, "an the dame

be from America, her tribe and race must needs be a distant one, placed

remote from the coast. The natives of the Floridas----"



"Florida!" exclaimed Rebecca. "What you talkin' about, anyway? That's

away down South. I come from New Hampshire, I tell you."



"Know you that region, Raleigh?" said the Queen, anxiously.



Raleigh shook his head with a thoughtful expression.



"Nay, your Majesty," he replied. "And if I might venture to hint my

doubts--" He paused.



"Well, go on, man--go on!" said the Queen, impatiently.



"I would observe that the name is an English one, and 'tis scarce

credible that in America, where our tongue is unknown, any region can be

named for an English county."



"Land sakes!" exclaimed Rebecca, in growing amazement. "Don't know

English! Why--don't I talk as good English as any of ye? You don't have

to talk Bible talk to speak English, I sh'd hope!"



Elizabeth frowned and settled back in her chair, turning her piercing

eyes once more upon her mysterious visitor.



"Your judgment is most sound, Sir Walter," she said. "In sooth, 'twere

passing strange were our own tongue to be found among the savages of the

New World! What have ye to say to this, mistress?"



Rebecca turned her eyes from one to the other of the bystanders,

doubtful at first whether or not they were all in a conspiracy to mock

her. Her good sense told her that this was wellnigh impossible, and she

finally came to the conclusion that sheer ignorance was the only

explanation.



"Well, well!" she exclaimed at last. "I've heerd tell about how simple

Britishers was, but this beats all! Do you reely mean to tell me," she

continued, vehemently nodding her head at the Queen, "that you think

the's nothin' but Indians in America?"



A murmur of indignation spread through the assembly caused by language

and manners so little suited to the address of royalty.



"The woman hath lost her wits!" said the Queen, dryly.



"There 'tis again!" said Rebecca, testily. "Why, ef it comes to talk of

simpletons and the like, I guess the pot can't call the kettle black!"



Elizabeth gripped the arm of her chair and leaned forward angrily, while

two or three gentlemen advanced, watching their mistress for the first

sign of a command. At the same moment, a triumphant thought occurred to

Rebecca, and, dropping her umbrella, she opened her satchel with both

hands.



"Ye needn't to get mad, Mrs. Tudor," she said. "I didn't mean any

offence, but I guess you wouldn't like to be called a lunatic yerself.

See here," she continued, dragging forth a section of the newspaper

which she had brought with her, "ef you folks won't believe my word,

jest look at this! It's all here in the newspaper--right in print.

There!"



She held the paper high where all might see, and with one accord Queen

and courtiers craned forward eagerly, burning with curiosity at sight of

the printed columns interspersed with nineteenth-century illustrations.



Rebecca stepped forward and handed the paper to the Queen, and then,

drawing forth another section from her bag, she carried it to the

bewildered Raleigh, who took it like one in a trance.



For some time no one spoke. Elizabeth turned the paper this way and

that, reading a bit here and a bit there, and gazing spellbound upon the

enigmatic pictures.



Having completely mastered the situation, Rebecca now found time to

consider her comfort. Far on one side, near the door through which she

had entered, there stood a youth of perhaps sixteen, clad in the

somewhat fantastic garb of a page. Having picked up her umbrella,

Rebecca approached this youth and said in a sharp whisper:



"Couldn't you get me a chair, sonny?"



The lad disappeared with startling promptitude, but he did not return.

It was an agony of perplexity and shyness which had moved him, not a

willingness to serve.



Rebecca gazed about at the etiquette-bound men and women around her and

muttered, with an indignant snort and toss of the head:



"Set o' decorated haystacks!"



Then, with head held high and a frigid "Beg pardon, mister!" she elbowed

her way through the dense throng of gentlemen-in-waiting and seated

herself on the bench arranged along the side of the cabin.



"Oof!" she exclaimed. "Feels though my legs would drop clear off!"



At length the Queen looked up.



"Why, what now!" she exclaimed. "Whither hath the strange woman gone?"



A tall man dressed in black and gold stepped forward and dropped upon

one knee. He had a long, humorous face, with high cheek bones, a

straight, good-humored mouth, with a high mustache well off the lip and

a pointed beard. The eyes, set far apart, twinkled with the light of fun

as he awaited permission to speak.



"Well, my Lord of Southampton," said the Queen, kindly, "I doubt some

gay mischief be afoot. Your face tells me as much, my lord."



"Nay, my liege," was the humble reply. "Can my face so far forget the

duty owed to Royalty as to speak thus, not being first admitted to

discourse!"



Elizabeth smiled and replied:



"Even so, my lord, but we forgive the offence if that your face hath

spoken truth. Know you aught of the strange woman? Pray be standing."



The earl arose and replied:



"Of her rank and station, she must be a queen at least, or she doth

forget herself. This may your Majesty confirm if but these your

Majesty's servants be commanded to cross the room."



Elizabeth, puzzled, bowed her head slightly, and the courtiers behind

whom Rebecca had sought rest walked with one accord to the other side of

the cabin, revealing to the astonished eyes of the Queen her visitor

quietly seated upon the bench.



Rebecca nodded with a pleased look.



"Well, there!" she exclaimed. "Much obliged to you all. That's certainly

better."



"Dame," said Elizabeth, sternly, "is this the respect you show to them

above you in America?"



"Above me!" said Rebecca, straightening up stiffly. "There ain't anybody

put above me at home, I can tell you. Ef the' was, I'd put 'em down

mighty quick, I guess."



Elizabeth raised her brows and, leaning toward the lord treasurer, who

stood at her side, she said in an undertone:



"This must be some sovereign princess in her own country, my lord. How

comes it I have not had earlier intelligence of her arrival in this

realm?"



Lord Burleigh bowed profoundly and mumbled something about its being

out of his immediate province--he would have investigation made--etc.,

etc.



The Queen cut him short a little impatiently.



"Let it be done, my lord," she said.



Then turning to Rebecca, she continued:



"Our welcome is somewhat tardy, but none the less sincere. England hath

e'er been friendly to the American, and you had been more fittingly

received had our informants been less negligent."



Here the Queen shot a glance at poor Sir Walter Raleigh, who now seemed

the personification of discomfiture.



"By what name are you called?" Elizabeth continued.



"Wise," said Rebecca, very graciously, "Rebecca Wise."



"Lady Rebecca, will you sit nearer?"



Instantly one of the pages sprang forward with a low chair, which, in

obedience to a sign from the Queen, he placed at her right hand.



"Why, I'd be right pleased," said Rebecca. "That is, if the other folks

don't mind," she continued, looking around. "I don't want to spile your

party."



So saying, she advanced and sat beside the Queen, who now turned once

more to the luckless Raleigh.



"Well, Sir Walter," she said, "what say you now? You have the printed

proof. Can you make aught of it? How comes it that in all your fine

travels in the New World you have heard no English spoken?"



"Oh, I dare say 'tain't his fault!" said Rebecca, indulgently. "I'm

told they have a mighty queer way o' talkin' down South, where he's ben.

Comes o' bein' brought up with darkies, ye know."



Elizabeth took up the newspaper once more.



"Was this printed in your realm, Lady Rebecca?" she asked.



"Hey!"



Elizabeth started haughtily, but recollected herself and repeated:



"Was this leaf printed in your country?"



"Oh, yes--yes, indeed! Down to New York. Pretty big paper, ain't it?"



"Not voluminous alone, but right puzzling to plain English minds," said

the Queen, scanning the paper severely. "Instance this."



Slowly she read the opening lines of a market report:



"The bulls received a solar-plexus blow yesterday when it was reported

that the C. R. and L. directors had resigned in a body owing to the

extensive strikes."



"What words are these?" Elizabeth exclaimed in a despairing tone. "What

is a plexus of the sun, and how doth it blow on a bull?"



Rebecca jumped up and brought her head close to the Queen's, peering

over the paper which she held. She read and reread the paragraph in

question and finally resumed her chair, slowly shaking her head.



"I guess that's the Wall Street talk I've heerd tell of," she said. "I

don't understand that kind myself."



"Why, Sir Walter," Elizabeth exclaimed, triumphantly, "here have we two

separate tribes at least, each speaking its proper dialect. Can it be

that you have heard no word of these before?"



"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."



"But these men carry arquebuses and wear a livery. And these temples--to

what false gods are they set up?"



"False gods!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Bless your simple heart, those ain't

temples. They're jest the buildin's where the men hev their offices."



Elizabeth sat in mute contemplation, vainly seeking to realize it all.



"My lords!" she burst forth suddenly, casting the paper violently to the

floor, "or this be rank forgery and fraud or else have we been strangely

deceived."



She frowned at Sir Walter, who dropped his eyes.



"'Tis not to be believed that such vast cities and great armies habited

by peoples polite and learned may be found across the sea and no report

of it come to them that visit there. How comes it that we must await so

strange a chance as this to learn such weighty news?"



She paused and only silence ensued.



Rebecca stooped and recovered the paper, which in falling had opened so

as to expose new matter.



"Don't be surprised," she said, soothingly. "I allus did hear that

Britishers knew mighty little 'bout America."



Still frowning, Elizabeth mechanically stretched forth her hand and

Rebecca gave her the paper. The Queen glanced at the sheet and her face

lost its stern aspect as she eagerly brought the print nearer to her

eyes.



"Why, what now!" she exclaimed. "God mend us, here have we strange

attire! Is this a woman of your tribe, my lady?"



Rebecca looked and blushed. Then, in an uneasy tone, she said:



"That's jest an advertisement fer a new corset, Mis' Tudor. I never did

see how folks ever allowed sech things to be printed--'tain't

respectable!"



"A corset, call you it! And these, then?"



"Oh, those are the styles, the fashions! That's the fashion page, ye

know. That's where they tell all about what the rich folks down to New

York are wearin'."



There was a murmur and a rustle among the ladies-in-waiting, who had

hitherto made no sign, and upon the Queen's cheek there spread an added

tinge, betokening a high degree of interest and gratification.



"Ah!" she sighed, and glanced pleasantly over her shoulder, "here be

matters of moment, indeed! Your Grace of Devonshire, what say you to

this?"



Eagerly the elderly lady so addressed stepped forward and made a low

reverence.



"Look--look here, ladies all!" Elizabeth continued, with a tremor of

excitement in her voice. "Saw you ever such an array as this?"



With one accord the whole bevy of assembled ladies pressed forward,

trembling with delighted anticipation. A fashion sheet--and from the

New World! What wonder they were moved!



Her Majesty was about to begin perusal of one of the fascinating

paragraphs wherein were described those marvellous fashion-plates when

there was a cry outside of "Way 'nough!" and a moment later the smart

young lieutenant who had before accosted Rebecca entered and stood at

attention.



Elizabeth looked up and frowned slightly. Folding the paper carefully,

she called to Sir Walter, who still held in his unconscious hand the

other section of the paper.



"Bring hither yon sheet, Sir Walter," she cried. "Perchance there may be

further intelligence of this sort therein. We will peruse both pamphlets

at our leisure anon."



Then, turning to the Lord High Admiral:



"My Lord of Nottingham," she said, "you may depart. Your duties await

you without. Let it be the charge of your Grace," she continued,

addressing the Duchess of Devonshire, "to attend her Highness the Lady

Rebecca. See that she be maintained as suits her rank, and let her be

near our person that we may not lose aught of her society."



The ceremony of landing prevented further discourse between Rebecca and

the Queen, and it was with the greatest interest that the stranger

observed every detail of the formal function.



Peering through the glass sides of the cabin, Rebecca could see the

landing wharf, thronged with servants and magnificently dressed

officers, while beyond there loomed a long, two-storied white stone

building, with a round-arched entrance flanked by two towers. This was

Greenwich Palace, a favorite summer residence of the Queen.