So, holding his arms stiffly against his sides, and settling his cushions down in his seat and against his back, away rocked Racky. It was getting colder, though the sun was shining brightly, and at first the chair, who had lived, all his life, in a warm house, felt a bit chilly.
"But if I rock faster, perhaps I will get warm," he told himself, so he swayed to and fro as hard as he could. And the more he rocked the farther on he traveled, for that is the way of some rocking chairs. Soon he felt a warm glow all through his legs and arms.
"Yes, I ought to begin my adventures very soon," thought Racky as he rocked over the fields toward the woods. "I wonder what will be the first one?"
And, almost before he knew it, an adventure happened to him.
He was swaying along, not thinking of any danger when, all of a sudden, he found himself on top of a rather steep little hill, which led down to the edge of a wide brook. The hill was covered with grass, which was now dried because Jack Frost had touched it with his cold fingers; and this grass was slippery.
All at once, Racky rocked himself up to the top of this hill, and, before he could stop himself, he began sliding swiftly down. Faster and faster his smooth, polished rockers slipped along the crisp grass as a boy coasts down a snow-covered hill on his sled. Faster and faster slid Racky.
"Oh, I wonder what will happen to me?" thought the chair. "This is certainly an adventure. But it will not be a very jolly one if I splash into that brook at the foot of the hill! Oh, dear! I can't stop myself!"
And straight on toward the brook slid Racky!