Ozma of Oz | Page 5

be happy."
"It's strange," said the girl, reflectively; "but as I'm not a hen I can't be
'spected to understand that."
"Certainly not, my dear."
Then Dorothy fell silent again. The yellow hen was some company,
and a bit of comfort, too; but it was dreadfully lonely out on the big
ocean, nevertheless.
After a time the hen flew up and perched upon the topmost slat of the
coop, which was a little above Dorothy's head when she was sitting
upon the bottom, as she had been doing for some moments past.
"Why, we are not far from land!" exclaimed the hen.

"Where? Where is it?" cried Dorothy, jumping up in great excitement.
"Over there a little way," answered the hen, nodding her head in a
certain direction. "We seem to be drifting toward it, so that before noon
we ought to find ourselves upon dry land again."
"I shall like that!" said Dorothy, with a little sigh, for her feet and legs
were still wetted now and then by the sea-water that came through the
open slats.
"So shall I," answered her companion. "There is nothing in the world so
miserable as a wet hen."
The land, which they seemed to be rapidly approaching, since it grew
more distinct every minute, was quite beautiful as viewed by the little
girl in the floating hen-coop. Next to the water was a broad beach of
white sand and gravel, and farther back were several rocky hills, while
beyond these appeared a strip of green trees that marked the edge of a
forest. But there were no houses to be seen, nor any sign of people who
might inhabit this unknown land.
"I hope we shall find something to eat," said Dorothy, looking eagerly
at the pretty beach toward which they drifted. "It's long past breakfast
time, now."
"I'm a trifle hungry, myself," declared the yellow hen.
"Why don't you eat the egg?" asked the child. "You don't need to have
your food cooked, as I do."
"Do you take me for a cannibal?" cried the hen, indignantly. "I do not
know what I have said or done that leads you to insult me!"
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure Mrs.--Mrs.--by the way, may I inquire
your name, ma'am?" asked the little girl.
"My name is Bill," said the yellow hen, somewhat gruffly.
"Bill! Why, that's a boy's name."

"What difference does that make?"
"You're a lady hen, aren't you?"
"Of course. But when I was first hatched out no one could tell whether
I was going to be a hen or a rooster; so the little boy at the farm where I
was born called me Bill, and made a pet of me because I was the only
yellow chicken in the whole brood. When I grew up, and he found that
I didn't crow and fight, as all the roosters do, he did not think to change
my name, and every creature in the barn-yard, as well as the people in
the house, knew me as 'Bill.' So Bill I've always been called, and Bill is
my name."
"But it's all wrong, you know," declared Dorothy, earnestly; "and, if
you don't mind, I shall call you 'Billina.' Putting the 'eena' on the end
makes it a girl's name, you see."
"Oh, I don't mind it in the least," returned the yellow hen. "It doesn't
matter at all what you call me, so long as I know the name means ME."
"Very well, Billina. MY name is Dorothy Gale--just Dorothy to my
friends and Miss Gale to strangers. You may call me Dorothy, if you
like. We're getting very near the shore. Do you suppose it is too deep
for me to wade the rest of the way?"
"Wait a few minutes longer. The sunshine is warm and pleasant, and
we are in no hurry."
"But my feet are all wet and soggy," said the girl. "My dress is dry
enough, but I won't feel real comfor'ble till I get my feet dried."
She waited, however, as the hen advised, and before long the big
wooden coop grated gently on the sandy beach and the dangerous
voyage was over.
It did not take the castaways long to reach the shore, you may be sure.
The yellow hen flew to the sands at once, but Dorothy had to climb
over the high slats. Still, for a country girl, that was not much of a feat,

and as soon as she was safe ashore Dorothy drew off her wet shoes and
stockings and spread them upon the sun-warmed beach to dry.
Then she sat down and watched Billina, who was pick-pecking away
with her sharp bill in the sand and gravel, which she scratched up and
turned over with her strong claws.
"What are you doing?"