"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?" asked Dorothy. "Getting my breakfast, of course," murmured the hen, busily pecking away. [Illustration: "HOW DREADFUL!" EXCLAIMED DOROTHY] "What do you find?" inquired the girl, curiously. "Oh, some fat red ants, and some sand-bugs, and once in a while a tiny crab. They are very sweet and nice, I assure you." "How dreadful!" exclaimed Dorothy, in a shocked voice. "What is dreadful?" asked the hen, lifting her head to gaze with one bright eye at her companion.