The stove could not hear this whisper, and so did not answer. But over his head Gassy could hear Racky rocking away on the kitchen linoleum.
"I believe that rocker is really getting ready to run away!" thought Gassy as he watched Lizzie wring more clothes out of the blue water so she could hang them in the yard. "I hope he doesn't get caught," mused the gas stove.
And run away was just what the chair intended to do. He had chosen a good time, too, with Grandma out in the hall and Lizzie down in the laundry. The back kitchen door was open, because the room was so hot from the cake-baking. Grandma had opened the door herself.
"Here's where I go!" whispered Racky, and he began to rock very hard, for it was by swaying to and fro that he traveled along sideways, as well as ahead.
Over the kitchen floor he rocked his way, and the cushions were so well tied in the chair that they did not fall out. And Grandma's glasses were tucked down so deeply among the cushions that they did not bounce out.
Racky reached the door, rocked out on the small, back porch and hesitated a moment at the top step.
"Well, I've got to get down them some way," he said to himself. "I may tumble and break a leg, but I'll have all four legs broken, and my rockers, too, if I stay here to be sat on by fat Grandma. She is jolly enough, and means well, but she is too heavy for me!"
So, all of a sudden, giving himself another swaying rock, Racky went sliding down the back steps, making quite a noise.
"There he goes!" whispered the gas stove down in the cellar. "Racky is going adventuring! I wish him luck!"
Lizzie, wringing out the clothes, also heard the sliding, thumping, bumping noise up at the back door.