"All right, but I wouldn't keep them shut up long enough to make pets of them," said her brother. "I cannot help believing they would rather be free."
As he said these words, there was a step on the garden walk, and a moment later a strange man stood in front of the children.
"Is your father at home?" he asked. "I have a message for him."
Ramon hurried into the house. Señor Diaz came out and spoke with the stranger in low tones. When he went back into the sitting-room he carried in his hand a piece of paper that looked perfectly blank. The stranger had disappeared again into the darkness.
"What did the children's good father do with that paper?" you ask.
He went quickly to his desk and put it under lock and key. Nothing could be done with it till the morning sun should light up the eastern sky.
"Then what?" you curiously ask again.
If we could have watched Señor Diaz, we should have seen him go to his desk once more, take out the precious paper, and go over it with a hair pencil dipped in a bottle of colorless liquid.
After that, we should have seen Maria running with the paper to the window, where the sun's rays would dry it quickly. Lo and behold! writing began to appear which threw the whole family into a great state of excitement. These were the words:
"The U. S. warship Maine has been blown up. The Americans are roused. They believe without doubt that the Spaniards are the doers of the terrible deed. Victory shall be ours at last, for the United States will now surely take our part against Spain."