"If we can peel off that first layer, and then hold it up to the light, we shall be able to see the impression of every word that was ever made on it--even though they were written a hundred years ago!" Mukoki had gone to the door, and now he turned, grinning exultantly.
"She peel!" He showed them where he had stripped back a corner of the film-like layer.

Then he sat down in the light, his head bent over, and for many minutes he worked at his tedious task while Wabi and Rod hung back in soundless suspense.

Half an hour later Mukoki straightened himself, rose to his feet and held out the precious film to Rod.
As tenderly as though his own life depended upon its care, Rod held the piece of birch, now a silken, almost transparent sheet, between himself and the light.

A cry welled up into his throat.

It was repeated by Wabi.
And then there was silence--a silence broken only by their bated breaths and the excited thumpings of their hearts.
As though they had been written but yesterday, the mysterious words on the map were disclosed to their eyes.