This made Dorothy thoughtful.  What Billina said was true enough, and it almost took away her appetite for breakfast.  As for the yellow hen, she continued to peck away at the sand busily, and seemed quite contented with her bill-of-fare.

Finally, down near the water’s edge, Billina stuck her bill deep into the sand, and then drew back and shivered.

“Ow!” she cried.  “I struck metal, that time, and it nearly broke my beak.”

“It prob’bly was a rock,” said Dorothy, carelessly.

“Nonsense.  I know a rock from metal, I guess,” said the hen.  “There’s a different feel to it.”

“But there couldn’t be any metal on this wild, deserted seashore,” persisted the girl.  “Where’s the place?  I’ll dig it up, and prove to you I’m right,”

Billina showed her the place where she had “stubbed her bill,” as she expressed it, and Dorothy dug away the sand until she felt something hard.  Then, thrusting in her hand, she pulled the thing out, and discovered it to be a large sized golden key—­rather old, but still bright and of perfect shape.

“What did I tell you?” cried the hen, with a cackle of triumph.  “Can I tell metal when I bump into it, or is the thing a rock?”

“It’s metal, sure enough,” answered the child, gazing thoughtfully at the curious thing she had found.  “I think it is pure gold, and it must have lain hidden in the sand for a long time.  How do you suppose it came there, Billina?  And what do you suppose this mysterious key unlocks?”

“I can’t say,” replied the hen.  “You ought to know more about locks and keys than I do.”

Dorothy glanced around.  There was no sign of any house in that part of the country, and she reasoned that every key must fit a lock and every lock must have a purpose.  Perhaps the key had been lost by somebody who lived far away, but had wandered on this very shore.

Musing on these things the girl put the key in the pocket of her dress and then slowly drew on her shoes and stockings, which the sun had fully dried.

“I b’lieve, Billina,” she said, “I’ll have a look ’round, and see if I can find some breakfast.”

3.  Letters in the Sand

Walking a little way back from the water’s edge, toward the grove of trees, Dorothy came to a flat stretch of white sand that seemed to have queer signs marked upon its surface, just as one would write upon sand with a stick.

“What does it say?” she asked the yellow hen, who trotted along beside her in a rather dignified fashion.

“How should I know?” returned the hen.  “I cannot read.”

“Oh!  Can’t you?”

“Certainly not; I’ve never been to school, you know.”

“Well, I have,” admitted Dorothy; “but the letters are big and far apart, and it’s hard to spell out the words.”

But she looked at each letter carefully, and finally discovered that these words were written in the sand: