a 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."

[Illustration]

Letters in the Sand

[Illustration]

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