Suddenly, out of the tangle of frost-killed weeds rushed—Thump, the shaggy dog belonging to Rodney Trent—belonging, also, to his sister Addie; and to Nat and Weezie next door. The dog belonged to all four children, equally, though, in the beginning, Mr. Trent had bought the puppy for Rodney.
"Oh, it's you; is it, Thump?" asked Racky in a low voice, for the chair, the stove and the dog could talk to, and understand, each other.
"Yes, it is I," barked Thump, who, at times, was very careful about grammar, for once he had been to school, as I have told you. "But what in the world are you doing out here, Racky?" asked the dog.
Racky looked carefully around, before answering, to make sure neither Grandma nor Lizzie was coming after him. Then, rocking a bit closer to Thump, who stood in the patch of weeds, with his head thrust out, the chair whispered:
"I am running away!"
"Running away!" barked Thump.
"Yes! I can't stand Grandma's treatment any longer."
"Did she scratch you, or stick pins in you, or pull your tail?" whined Thump. "No, she couldn't pull your tail," he made haste to add, "for you haven't any. But what did she do to you to make you want to run away?"
"She sits on me too hard!" answered the chair. "Poor Grandma—it isn't all her fault," added Racky with a sigh, "it's just because she is getting too heavy and fat! It's too bad, for otherwise, she is such a jolly old lady. And I'm sorry about her glasses, too! But I am going to run away! I have already started."
"So I see," barked the dog, coming out of the weeds and walking around the chair. "You are on your way. But what do you mean about Grandma's glasses?"