"The Guinea-hen! Ha, ha! That's a good one!" The Toyman was forever saying
that and laughing at the funny things the children said.

Hepzebiah, thinking that this was a nice sort of a game, took her finger
out of her mouth and pointed again--this time out at the pond where the
swans were sailing, like pretty white ships themselves.

"The very thing," exclaimed the Toyman. "White Swan's a _fine_ name
for a boat!"

And he wrote "White Swan" on one chip, "Peacock" on another, and "Arrow"
on the last. Then he held them towards the children.

"The smallest must choose first," he said, and Hepzebiah took one of the
little white pieces of wood from the Toyman's hand. He turned it over and
read:

"White Swan."

"We'd go a good ways before we'd get a better name," he decided. "When
the boat's all finished and all sails set, she'll sail away just like a
swan; you see if she doesn't."

The hull of the boat was finished now, and on the bow, at the very front,
he nailed a thin little stick, with tiny nails. This was the bowsprit.

On the keel at the very bottom, he fastened a piece of lead so she wouldn't
"turn turtle"--turn over, he meant, when her sails were set and the wind
blew too hard.