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.

[Illustration: THE YELLOW HEN]

"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 Dorot