"What difference does that make?"

"A good deal," said the girl, in a graver tone. "I can't just 'splain
the diff'rence, but it's there. And, anyhow, we never eat such
dreadful things as BUGS."

"But you eat the chickens that eat the bugs," retorted the yellow hen,
with an odd cackle. "So you are just as bad as we chickens are."

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,"