Amid a clearing in the forest, and not far from the edge of the brook, stood a little cottage where lived the Singing Girl. She was the daughter of a wood-chopper who, every morning, tramped off through the lanes of tall trees to cut fire-sticks which he sold in the town. The Singing Girl, as she was called, remained at home in the cottage, after her father had gone to cut wood. She washed the dishes, she swept the floors and she dusted the furniture until her father came home at night, when she would have his supper ready.
As she worked about the cottage, the Girl sang—jolly little songs she would sing, about anything and everything, for she was very happy, though she and her father were poor.
"La, la, la!" the Girl would sing. "Tra, la, la!" Just simple little things like that.
"My Singing Girl is happy!" the wood-chopper would say as he tramped off in the forest.
Now it was toward this cottage of the Singing Girl that Racky, the runaway rocker, was sliding as he coasted down the grassy hill, at the foot of which was the wood-chopper's home.
Faster and faster down the slope glided the rocking chair. He could see the water of the brook sparkling in the sun.
"What shall I do? How can I stop myself from sliding into the brook and drowning?" thought the chair. He did not dream that, being made of wood, he would float like a cork, and not sink. "I didn't know adventures were like this—so dangerous!" murmured Racky, shivering, for the warm glow had left him. "I wonder what Gassy would do if he were here?"
But the stove was not there to ask, so Racky just had to keep on sliding. He was close to the brook now. Another second or two and he would splash in. But just then the Singing Girl ran out of the cottage humming:
"La! La! La, la, la!"
She had finished washing the dishes, and was bringing out the drying-towels to hang on a bush in the sun when, looking up the hill, she saw the rocking chair coming down.