"How faint and brown the letters have become," observed Willy. "They look like writing in milk!"
"In milk," exclaimed Ned. "Why, you could not see that at all, it would be just the same colour as the paper."
"So it is," replied Willy. "You could not know that anything was written, until you hold the paper to the fire."
"That's curious. I never heard of that before. It would be a capital thing for a secret correspondence. Let's try it. I will ask Mrs. Simmons for some milk, and see if you can make out what I write."
"Where are we to find a fire in midsummer?" observed Willy.
"Oh I go into the study there—there is wood ready laid, and matches you will find on the mantelpiece."
"And paper?"
"There are plenty of old envelopes and scraps lying about; there—make haste, I will be back before you can get up a blaze."
"Can you not find another piece of paper, Tom?" said Willy, as upon his knees he was trying to coax up a flame. "This wood must be damp, it will not burn."
"Here!" cried Tom, flinging him a handful. "How Sir Hugh throws his papers about!"