“Yes, use a small paint brush dipped in milk. Write your message, let it dry, and then when it is held to the fire the heat turns the milk brown and the writing appears. But, when I let Uncle Jim into my secret, I didn’t know he would turn it against myself.”
“You would have told us, anyway,” and Dolly nodded her head at him. “But it’s a good trick. Does it always work?”
“Yes, if you do it properly. It’s well to go over the milk letters a second time, while they are wet enough to see. Then the heat scorches them better. Also, have a care not to let the papers be handled or blurred before using.”
“Thank you, that’s a fine thing to know,” and Dolly tucked it away in her noddle for future use. She already saw herself mystifying Bert and Bob when they came home.
“Great, isn’t it, Dot?” she cried, her first thought, as always, to share every idea with Dotty.
But again, Dotty gave her the cold shoulder. She heard, but, pretending not to, she turned to Celia and chattered quickly.
Dolly gave her a hurt look, and then, as Dotty glanced at her without a responding smile, Dolly went deliberately across the room to where Bernice stood, alone and neglected.
Dolly was in defiant mood. She was full of wrath at Dotty’s attitude, and she was angry, too, at the boys, because they would not be nice to Bernice.
“Hello, Bernie,” she said. “How’d you like your fortune?”
“I don’t like anything,” returned Bernice, her eyes stormy with discontent. “I want to go home.”