"Why, as for that," answered the yellow hen thoughtfully, "I've
clucked and cackled all my life, and never spoken a word before this
morning, that I can remember. But when you asked a question, 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.