stion, a minute ago, it
seemed the most natural thing in the world to answer you. So I spoke,
and I seem to keep on speaking, just as you and other human beings do.
Strange, isn't it?"

"Very," replied Dorothy. "If we were in the Land of Oz, I wouldn't
think it so queer, because many of the animals can talk in that fairy
country. But out here in the ocean must be a good long way from Oz."

"How is my grammar?" asked the yellow hen, anxiously. "Do I speak
quite properly, in your judgment?"

"Yes," said Dorothy, "you do very well, for a beginner."

"I'm glad to know that," continued the yellow hen, in a confidential
tone; "because, if one is going to talk, it's best to talk correctly.
The red rooster has often said that my cluck and my cackle were quite
perfect; and now it's a comfort to know I am talking properly."

"I'm beginning to get hungry," remarked Dorothy. "It's breakfast time;
but there's no breakfast."

"You may have my egg," said the yellow hen. "I don't care for it, you
know."

"Don't you want to hatch it?" asked the little girl, in surprise.

"No, indeed; I never care to hatch eggs unless I've a nice snug nest,
in some quiet place, with a baker's dozen of eggs under me. That's
thirteen, you know, and it's a lucky number for hens. So you may as
well eat this egg."

"Oh, I couldn't POSS'BLY eat it, unless it was cooked," exclaimed
Dorothy. "But I'm much obliged for your kindness, just the same."

"Don't mention it, my dear," answered the hen, calmly, and began
preening her feathers.

For a moment Dorothy stood looking out over the wide sea. She was
still thinking of the egg, though; so presently she asked:

"Why do you lay eggs, when you don't expect to hatch them?"

"It's a habit I have," replied the yellow hen. "It has always been my
pride to lay a fresh egg every morning, except when I'm moulting. I
never feel like having my morning cackle till the egg is properly laid,
and without the chance to cackle I would not 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