"He calls me Mrs. Chimney, just for fun, because he once mended my chimney when the wind blew off some bricks," explained the little old woman. "But Chimney isn't really my name."
"Is Santa Claus his name?" asked Weezie, who was now not quite so sure of her first guess, since she could neither see any reindeer nor any pack on the old man's back.
"No, he isn't Santa Claus, though he looks like the kind old Saint, my dears," said Mrs. Chimney, as she had been called. "But I must go out and see what he wants."
She opened the door of her cottage. The red-cheeked, old man left the window and stood on the front steps, as the children could see when the door was open. They could also see something else. They held their breaths in wonderment.
"Oh, see!" murmured Weezie, pointing a trembling finger.
But before the others could gasp out their surprises, the old man exclaimed:
"Look, Mrs. Chimney, coming through the storm I saw this old rocking chair sliding along. It slid right up to your door and seemed about to knock. Perhaps it wants to come in out of the snow. I thought I'd better tell you. The chair rocked itself down the hill, from around the edge of the big rock."
"You mean the wind blew it," said Chimney with a smile. "A chair can't rock itself down hill."
"Oh, yes it can! This chair can!" cried Nat. "This is our chair, Racky, that ran away. That's the chair we have been looking for!" He was all excited, and so were the other children.
"Yes, that's Racky!" echoed Weezie.