Hischildren，too，wereasraggedandwildasiftheybelongedto
　　nobody。HissonRip，anurchinbegotteninhisownlikeness，
　　promisedtoinheritthehabits，withtheoldclothesofhisfather。He
　　wasgenerallyseentroopinglikeacoltathismother’sheels，
　　equippedinapairofhisfather’scast—offgalligaskins，whichhehad
　　muchadotoholdupwithonehand，asafineladydoeshertrainin
　　badweather。
　　RipVanWinkle，however，wasoneofthosehappymortals，offoolish，
　　well—oileddispositions，whotaketheworldeasy，eatwhitebreador
　　brown，whichevercanbegotwithleastthoughtortrouble，andwould
　　ratherstarveonapennythanworkforapound。Iflefttohimself，he
　　wouldhavewhistledlifeawayinperfectcontentment；buthiswife
　　keptcontinuallydinninginhisearsabouthisidleness，his
　　carelessness，andtheruinhewasbringingonhisfamily。Morning，
　　noon，andnight，hertonguewasincessantlygoing，andeverything
　　hesaidordidwassuretoproduceatorrentofhouseholdeloquence。
　　Riphadbutonewayofreplyingtoalllecturesofthekind，andthat，
　　byfrequentuse，hadgrownintoahabit。Heshruggedhisshoulders，
　　shookhishead，castuphiseyes，butsaidnothing。This，however，
　　alwaysprovokedafreshvolleyfromhiswife；sothathewasfainto
　　drawoffhisforces，andtaketotheoutsideofthehouse—theonly
　　sidewhich，intruth，belongstoahen—peckedhusband。
　　Rip’ssoledomesticadherentwashisdogWolf，whowasasmuch
　　hen—peckedashismaster；forDameVanWinkleregardedthemas
　　companionsinidleness，andevenlookeduponWolfwithanevileye，as
　　thecauseofhismaster’sgoingsooftenastray。Trueitis，inall
　　pointsofspiritbefittinganhonorabledog，hewasascourageousan
　　animalaseverscouredthewoods—butwhatcouragecanwithstandthe
　　ever—duringandall—besettingterrorsofawoman’stongue？The
　　momentWolfenteredthehousehiscrestfell，histaildroopedto
　　theground，orcurledbetweenhislegs，hesneakedaboutwitha
　　gallowsair，castingmanyasidelongglanceatDameVanWinkle，andat
　　theleastflourishofabroomstickorladle，hewouldflytothe
　　doorwithyelpingprecipitation。
　　TimesgrewworseandworsewithRipVanWinkleasyearsofmatrimony
　　rolledon；atarttempernevermellowswithage，andasharptongueis
　　theonlyedgedtoolthatgrowskeenerwithconstantuse。Foralong
　　whileheusedtoconsolehimself，whendrivenfromhome，by
　　frequentingakindofperpetualclubofthesages，philosophers，and
　　otheridlepersonagesofthevillage；whichhelditssessionsona
　　benchbeforeasmallinn，designatedbyarubicundportraitofHis
　　MajestyGeorgetheThird。Heretheyusedtositintheshadethrougha
　　longlazysummer’sday，talkinglistlesslyovervillagegossip，or
　　tellingendlesssleepystoriesaboutnothing。Butitwouldhavebeen
　　worthanystatesman’smoneytohaveheardtheprofounddiscussions
　　thatsometimestookplace，whenbychanceanoldnewspaperfellinto
　　theirhandsfromsomepassingtraveller。Howsolemnlytheywould
　　listentothecontents，asdrawledoutbyDerrickVanBummel，the
　　schoolmaster，adapperlearnedlittleman，whowasnottobedaunted
　　bythemostgiganticwordinthedictionary；andhowsagelytheywould
　　deliberateuponpubliceventssomemonthsaftertheyhadtakenplace。
　　TheopinionsofthisjuntowerecompletelycontrolledbyNicholas
　　Vedder，apatriarchofthevillage，andlandlordoftheinn，atthe
　　doorofwhichhetookhisseatfrommorningtillnightjustmoving
　　sufficientlytoavoidthesunandkeepintheshadeofalargetree；
　　sothattheneighborscouldtellthehourbyhismovementsas
　　accuratelyasbyasun—dial。Itistruehewasrarelyheardto
　　speak，butsmokedhispipeincessantly。Hisadherents，however（for
　　everygreatmanhashisadherents），perfectlyunderstoodhim，andknew
　　howtogatherhisopinions。Whenanythingthatwasreadorrelated
　　displeasedhim，hewasobservedtosmokehispipevehemently，andto
　　sendforthshort，frequentandangrypuffs；butwhenpleased，hewould
　　inhalethesmokeslowlyandtranquilly，andemititinlightand
　　placidclouds；andsometimes，takingthepipefromhismouth，and
　　lettingthefragrantvaporcurlabouthisnose，wouldgravelynod
　　hisheadintokenofperfectapprobation。
　　FromeventhisstrongholdtheunluckyRipwasatlengthroutedby
　　histermagantwife，whowouldsuddenlybreakinuponthe
　　tranquillityoftheassemblageandcallthemembersalltonaught；nor
　　wasthataugustpersonage，NicholasVedderhimself，sacredfromthe
　　daringtongueofthisterriblevirago，whochargedhimoutrightwith
　　encouragingherhusbandinhabitsofidleness。
　　PoorRipwasatlastreducedalmosttodespair；andhisonly
　　alternative，toescapefromthelaborofthefarmandclamorofhis
　　wife，wastotakeguninhandandstrollawayintothewoods。Here
　　hewouldsometimesseathimselfatthefootofatree，andsharethe
　　contentsofhiswalletwithWolf，withwhomhesympathizedasa
　　fellow—suffererinpersecution。"PoorWolf，"hewouldsay，"thy
　　mistressleadstheeadog’slifeofit；butnevermind，mylad，whilst
　　Ilivethoushaltneverwantafriendtostandbythee！"Wolfwould
　　waghistail，lookwistfullyinhismaster’sface，andifdogscan
　　feelpityIverilybelievehereciprocatedthesentimentwithall
　　hisheart。
　　Inalongrambleofthekindonafineautumnalday，Riphad
　　unconsciouslyscrambledtooneofthehighestpartsoftheKaatskill
　　mountains。Hewasafterhisfavoritesportofsquirrelshooting，and
　　thestillsolitudeshadechoedandre—echoedwiththereportsofhis
　　gun。Pantingandfatigued，hethrewhimself，lateintheafternoon，on
　　agreenknoll，coveredwithmountainherbage，thatcrownedthebrowof
　　aprecipice。Fromanopeningbetweenthetreeshecouldoverlookall
　　thelowercountryformanyamileofrichwoodland。Hesawata
　　distancethelordlyHudson，far，farbelowhim，movingonitssilent
　　butmajesticcourse，withthereflectionofapurplecloud，orthe
　　sailofalaggingbark，hereandtheresleepingonitsglassybosom，
　　andatlastlosingitselfinthebluehighlands。
　　Ontheothersidehelookeddownintoadeepmountainglen，wild，
　　lonely，andshagged，thebottomfilledwithfragmentsfromthe
　　impendingcliffs，andscarcelylightedbythereflectedraysofthe
　　settingsun。ForsometimeRiplaymusingonthisscene；eveningwas
　　graduallyadvancing；themountainsbegantothrowtheirlongblue
　　shadowsoverthevalleys；hesawthatitwouldbedarklongbefore
　　hecouldreachthevillage，andheheavedaheavysighwhenhethought
　　ofencounteringtheterrorsofDameVanWinkle。
　　Ashewasabouttodescend，heheardavoicefromadistance，
　　hallooing，"RipVanWinkle！RipVanWinkle！"Helookedround，but
　　couldseenothingbutacrowwingingitssolitaryflightacrossthe
　　mountain。Hethoughthisfancymusthavedeceivedhim，andturned
　　againtodescend，whenheheardthesamecryringthroughthestill
　　eveningair；"RipVanWinkle！RipVanWinkle！"—atthesametime
　　Wolfbristleduphisback，andgivingalowgrowl，skulkedtohis
　　master’sside，lookingfearfullydownintotheglen。Ripnowfelta
　　vagueapprehensionstealingoverhim；helookedanxiouslyinthe
　　samedirection，andperceivedastrangefigureslowlytoilingupthe
　　rocks，andbendingundertheweightofsomethinghecarriedonhis
　　back。Hewassurprisedtoseeanyhumanbeinginthislonelyand
　　unfrequentedplace，butsupposingittobesomeoneofthe
　　neighborhoodinneedofhisassistance，hehasteneddowntoyieldit。
　　Onnearerapproachhewasstillmoresurprisedatthesingularityof
　　thestranger’sappearance。Hewasashortsquare—builtoldfellow，
　　withthickbushyhair，andagrizzledbeard。Hisdresswasofthe
　　antiqueDutchfashion—aclothjerkinstrappedroundthewaist—
　　severalpairofbreeches，theouteroneofamplevolume，decorated
　　withrowsofbuttonsdownthesides，andbunchesattheknees。Hebore
　　onhisshoulderastoutkeg，thatseemedfullofliquor，andmade
　　signsforRiptoapproachandassisthimwiththeload。Though
　　rathershyanddistrustfulofthisnewacquaintance，Ripcompliedwith
　　hisusualalacrity；andmutuallyrelievingoneanother，theyclambered
　　upanarrowgully，apparentlythedrybedofamountaintorrent。As
　　theyascended，Ripeverynowandthenheardlongrollingpeals，like
　　distantthunder，thatseemedtoissueoutofadeepravine，or
　　rathercleft，betweenloftyrocks，towardwhichtheirruggedpath
　　conducted。Hepausedforaninstant，butsupposingittobethe
　　mutteringofoneofthosetransientthunder—showerswhichoftentake
　　placeinmountainheights，heproceeded。Passingthroughtheravine，
　　theycametoahollow，likeasmallamphitheatre，surroundedby
　　perpendicularprecipices，overthebrinksofwhichimpendingtrees
　　shottheirbranches，sothatyouonlycaughtglimpsesoftheazuresky
　　andthebrighteveningcloud。DuringthewholetimeRipandhis
　　companionhadlaboredoninsilence；forthoughtheformermarvelled
　　greatlywhatcouldbetheobjectofcarryingakegofliquorupthis
　　wildmountain，yettherewassomethingstrangeandincomprehensible
　　abouttheunknown，thatinspiredaweandcheckedfamiliarity。
　　Onenteringtheamphitheatre，newobjectsofwonderpresented
　　themselves。Onalevelspotinthecentrewasacompanyofodd—looking
　　personagesplayingatnine—pins。Theyweredressedinaquaint
　　outlandishfashion；someworeshortdoublets，othersjerkins，with
　　longknivesintheirbelts，andmostofthemhadenormousbreeches，of
　　similarstylewiththatoftheguide’s。Theirvisages，too，were
　　peculiar：onehadalargebeard，broadface，andsmallpiggisheyes：
　　thefaceofanotherseemedtoconsistentirelyofnose，andwas
　　surmountedbyawhitesugar—loafhat，setoffwithalittleredcock’s
　　tail。Theyallhadbeards，ofvariousshapesandcolors。Therewasone
　　whoseemedtobethecommander。Hewasastoutoldgentleman，witha
　　weather—beatencountenance；heworealaceddoublet，broadbeltand
　　hanger，highcrownedhatandfeather，redstockings，andhigh—heeled
　　shoes，withrosesinthem。ThewholegroupremindedRipofthefigures
　　inanoldFlemishpainting，intheparlorofDominieVanShaick，the
　　villageparson，andwhichhadbeenbroughtoverfromHollandatthe
　　timeofthesettlement。
　　WhatseemedparticularlyoddtoRipwas，thatthoughthesefolks
　　wereevidentlyamusingthemselves，yettheymaintainedthegravest
　　faces，themostmysterioussilence，andwere，withal，themost
　　melancholypartyofpleasurehehadeverwitnessed。Nothing
　　interruptedthestillnessofthescenebutthenoiseoftheballs，
　　which，whenevertheywererolled，echoedalongthemountainslike
　　rumblingpealsofthunder。
　　AsRipandhiscompanionapproachedthem，theysuddenlydesisted
　　fromtheirplay，andstaredathimwithsuchfixedstatue—likegaze，
　　andsuchstrange，uncouth，lack—lustrecountenances，thathisheart
　　turnedwithinhim，andhiskneessmotetogether。Hiscompanionnow
　　emptiedthecontentsofthekegintolargeflagons，andmadesigns
　　tohimtowaituponthecompany。Heobeyedwithfearandtrembling；
　　theyquaffedtheliquorinprofoundsilence，andthenreturnedto
　　theirgame。
　　BydegreesRip’saweandapprehensionsubsided。Heevenventured，
　　whennoeyewasfixeduponhim，totastethebeverage，whichhe
　　foundhadmuchoftheflavorofexcellentHollands。Hewasnaturallya
　　thirstysoul，andwassoontemptedtorepeatthedraught。Onetaste
　　provokedanother；andhereiteratedhisvisitstotheflagonso
　　oftenthatatlengthhissenseswereoverpowered，hiseyesswaminhis
　　head，hisheadgraduallydeclined，andhefellintoadeepsleep。
　　Onwaking，hefoundhimselfonthegreenknollwhencehehadfirst
　　seentheoldmanoftheglen。Herubbedhiseyes—itwasabright
　　sunnymorning。Thebirdswerehoppingandtwitteringamongthebushes，
　　andtheeaglewaswheelingaloft，andbreastingthepuremountain
　　breeze。"Surely，"thoughtRip，"Ihavenotslepthereallnight。"He
　　recalledtheoccurrencesbeforehefellasleep。Thestrangemanwitha
　　kegofliquor—themountainravine—thewildretreatamongthe
　　rocks—thewobegonepartyatnine—pins—theflagon—"Oh！that
　　flagon！thatwickedflagon！"thoughtRip—"whatexcuseshallImaketo
　　DameVanWinkle！"
　　Helookedroundforhisgun，butinplaceofthecleanwell—oiled
　　fowling—piece，hefoundanoldfirelocklyingbyhim，thebarrel
　　incrustedwithrust，thelockfallingoff，andthestockworm—eaten。
　　Henowsuspectedthatthegraveroysterersofthemountainhadputa
　　trickuponhim，and，havingdosedhimwithliquor，hadrobbedhimof
　　hisgun。Wolf，too，haddisappeared，buthemighthavestrayedaway
　　afterasquirrelorpartridge。Hewhistledafterhimandshoutedhis
　　name，butallinvain；theechoesrepeatedhiswhistleandshout，
　　butnodogwastobeseen。
　　Hedeterminedtorevisitthesceneofthelastevening’sgambol，and
　　ifhemetwithanyoftheparty，todemandhisdogandgun。Asherose
　　towalk，hefoundhimselfstiffinthejoints，andwantinginhis
　　usualactivity。"Thesemountainbedsdonotagreewithme，"thought
　　Rip，"andifthisfrolicshouldlaymeupwithafitofthe
　　rheumatism，IshallhaveablessedtimewithDameVanWinkle。"With
　　somedifficultyhegotdownintotheglen：hefoundthegullyupwhich
　　heandhiscompanionhadascendedtheprecedingevening；buttohis
　　astonishmentamountainstreamwasnowfoamingdownit，leapingfrom
　　rocktorock，andfillingtheglenwithbabblingmurmurs。He，however，
　　madeshifttoscrambleupitssides，workinghistoilsomeway
　　throughthicketsofbirch，sassafras，andwitch—hazel，andsometimes
　　trippeduporentangledbythewildgrapevinesthattwistedtheir
　　coilsortendrilsfromtreetotree，andspreadakindofnetworkin
　　hispath。
　　Atlengthhereachedtowheretheravinehadopenedthroughthe
　　cliffstotheamphitheatre；butnotracesofsuchopeningremained。
　　Therockspresentedahighimpenetrablewalloverwhichthetorrent
　　cametumblinginasheetoffeatheryfoam，andfellintoabroad
　　deepbasin，blackfromtheshadowsofthesurroundingforest。Here，
　　then，poorRipwasbroughttoastand。Heagaincalledandwhistled
　　afterhisdog；hewasonlyansweredbythecawingofaflockofidle
　　crows，sportinghighinairaboutadrytreethatoverhungasunny
　　precipice；andwho，secureintheirelevation，seemedtolookdownand
　　scoffatthepoorman’sperplexities。Whatwastobedone？themorning
　　waspassingaway，andRipfeltfamishedforwantofhisbreakfast。
　　Hegrievedtogiveuphisdogandgun；hedreadedtomeethiswife；
　　butitwouldnotdotostarveamongthemountains。Heshookhis
　　head，shoulderedtherustyfirelock，and，withaheartfulloftrouble
　　andanxiety，turnedhisstepshomeward。
　　Asheapproachedthevillagehemetanumberofpeople，butnone
　　whomheknew，whichsomewhatsurprisedhim，forhehadthoughthimself
　　acquaintedwitheveryoneinthecountryround。Theirdress，too，
　　wasofadifferentfashionfromthattowhichhewasaccustomed。
　　Theyallstaredathimwithequalmarksofsurprise，andwheneverthey
　　casttheireyesuponhim，invariablystrokedtheirchins。Theconstant
　　recurrenceofthisgestureinducedRip，involuntarily，todothesame，
　　when，tohisastonishment，hefoundhisbeardhadgrownafootlong！
　　Hehadnowenteredtheskirtsofthevillage。Atroopofstrange
　　childrenranathisheels，hootingafterhim，andpointingathisgray
　　beard。Thedogs，too，notoneofwhichherecognizedforanold
　　acquaintance，barkedathimashepassed。Theveryvillagewas
　　altered；itwaslargerandmorepopulous。Therewererowsofhouses
　　whichhehadneverseenbefore，andthosewhichhadbeenhis
　　familiarhauntshaddisappeared。Strangenameswereoverthedoors—
　　strangefacesatthewindows—everythingwasstrange。Hismindnow
　　misgavehim；hebegantodoubtwhetherbothheandtheworldaround
　　himwerenotbewitched。Surelythiswashisnativevillage，whichhe
　　hadleftbutthedaybefore。TherestoodtheKaatskillmountains—
　　thereranthesilverHudsonatadistance—therewaseveryhilland
　　dalepreciselyasithadalwaysbeen—Ripwassorelyperplexed—
　　"Thatflagonlastnight，"thoughthe，"hasaddledmypoorheadsadly！"
　　Itwaswithsomedifficultythathefoundthewaytohisown
　　house，whichheapproachedwithsilentawe，expectingeverymoment
　　toheartheshrillvoiceofDameVanWinkle。Hefoundthehousegone
　　todecay—therooffallenin，thewindowsshattered，andthedoorsoff
　　thehinges。Ahalf—starveddogthatlookedlikeWolfwasskulking
　　aboutit。Ripcalledhimbyname，butthecursnarled，showedhis
　　teeth，andpassedon。Thiswasanunkindcutindeed—"Myverydog，"
　　sighedpoorRip，"hasforgottenme！"
　　Heenteredthehouse，which，totellthetruth，DameVanWinkle
　　hadalwayskeptinneatorder。Itwasempty，forlorn，andapparently
　　abandoned。Thisdesolatenessovercameallhisconnubialfears—he
　　calledloudlyforhiswifeandchildren—thelonelychambersrang
　　foramomentwithhisvoice，andthenallagainwassilence。
　　Henowhurriedforth，andhastenedtohisoldresort，thevillage
　　inn—butittoowasgone。Alargericketywoodenbuildingstoodinits
　　place，withgreatgapingwindows，someofthembrokenandmended
　　witholdhatsandpetticoats，andoverthedoorwaspainted，"The
　　UnionHotel，byJonathanDoolittle。"Insteadofthegreattreethat
　　usedtoshelterthequietlittleDutchinnofyore，therenowwas
　　rearedatallnakedpole，withsomethingonthetopthatlookedlikea
　　rednight—cap，andfromitwasflutteringaflag，onwhichwasa
　　singularassemblageofstarsandstripes—allthiswasstrangeand
　　incomprehensible。Herecognizedonthesign，however，therubyfaceof
　　KingGeorge，underwhichhehadsmokedsomanyapeacefulpipe；but
　　eventhiswassingularlymetamorphosed。Theredcoatwaschangedfor
　　oneofblueandbuff，aswordwasheldinthehandinsteadofa
　　sceptre，theheadwasdecoratedwithacockedhat，andunderneath
　　waspaintedinlargecharacters，GENERALWASHINGTON。
　　Therewas，asusual，acrowdoffolkaboutthedoor，butnonethat
　　Riprecollected。Theverycharacterofthepeopleseemedchanged。
　　Therewasabusy，bustling，disputatioustoneaboutit，insteadofthe
　　accustomedphlegmanddrowsytranquillity。Helookedinvainforthe
　　sageNicholasVedder，withhisbroadface，doublechin，andfair
　　longpipe，utteringcloudsoftobacco—smokeinsteadofidle
　　speeches；orVanBummel，theschoolmaster，dolingforththecontents
　　ofanancientnewspaper。Inplaceofthese，alean，bilious—looking
　　fellow，withhispocketsfullofhandbills，washaranguing
　　vehementlyaboutrightsofcitizens—elections—membersofcongress—
　　liberty—Bunker’sHill—heroesofseventy—six—andotherwords，
　　whichwereaperfectBabylonishjargontothebewilderedVanWinkle。
　　TheappearanceofRip，withhislonggrizzledbeard，hisrusty
　　fowling—piece，hisuncouthdress，andanarmyofwomenandchildrenat
　　hisheels，soonattractedtheattentionofthetavernpoliticians。
　　Theycrowdedroundhim，eyeinghimfromheadtofootwithgreat
　　curiosity。Theoratorbustleduptohim，and，drawinghimpartly
　　aside，inquired"onwhichsidehevoted？"Ripstaredinvacant
　　stupidity。Anothershortbutbusylittlefellowpulledhimbythearm，
　　and，risingontiptoe，inquiredinhisear，"WhetherhewasFederalor
　　Democrat？"Ripwasequallyatalosstocomprehendthequestion；
　　whenaknowing，self—importantoldgentleman，inasharpcockedhat，
　　madehiswaythroughthecrowd，puttingthemtotherightandleft
　　withhiselbowsashepassed，andplantinghimselfbeforeVan
　　Winkle，withonearmakimbo，theotherrestingonhiscane，hiskeen
　　eyesandsharphatpenetrating，asitwere，intohisverysoul，
　　demandedinanausteretone，"whatbroughthimtotheelectionwith
　　agunonhisshoulder，andamobathisheels，andwhetherhemeantto
　　breedariotinthevillage？"—"Alas！gentlemen，"criedRip，
　　somewhatdismayed，"Iamapoorquietman，anativeoftheplace，
　　andaloyalsubjectoftheking，Godblesshim！"
　　Hereageneralshoutburstfromthebystanders—"Atory！atory！a
　　spy！arefugee！hustlehim！awaywithhim！"Itwaswithgreat
　　difficultythattheself—importantmaninthecockedhatrestored
　　order；and，havingassumedaten—foldausterityofbrow，demanded
　　againoftheunknownculprit，whathecametherefor，andwhomhe
　　wasseeking？Thepoormanhumblyassuredhimthathemeantnoharm，
　　butmerelycamethereinsearchofsomeofhisneighbors，whoused
　　tokeepaboutthetavern。
　　"Well—whoarethey？—namethem。"
　　Ripbethoughthimselfamoment，andinquired，"Where’sNicholas
　　Vedder？"
　　Therewasasilenceforalittlewhile，whenanoldmanreplied，
　　inathinpipingvoice，"NicholasVedder！why，heisdeadandgone
　　theseeighteenyears！Therewasawoodentombstoneinthe
　　church—yardthatusedtotellallabouthim，butthat’srottenand
　　gonetoo。"
　　"Where’sBromDutcher？"
　　"Oh，hewentofftothearmyinthebeginningofthewar；somesay
　　hewaskilledatthestormingofStonyPoint—otherssayhewas
　　drownedinasquallatthefootofAntony’sNose。Idon’tknow—he
　　nevercamebackagain。"
　　"Where’sVanBummel，theschoolmaster？"
　　"Hewentofftothewarstoo，wasagreatmilitiageneral，andis
　　nowincongress。"
　　Rip’sheartdiedawayathearingofthesesadchangesinhishome
　　andfriends，andfindinghimselfthusaloneintheworld。Everyanswer
　　puzzledhimtoo，bytreatingofsuchenormouslapsesoftime，andof
　　matterswhichhecouldnotunderstand：war—congress—StonyPoint；—he
　　hadnocouragetoaskafteranymorefriends，butcriedoutin
　　despair，"DoesnobodyhereknowRipVanWinkle？"
　　"Oh，RipVanWinkle！"exclaimedtwoorthree，"Oh，tobesure！
　　that’sRipVanWinkleyonder，leaningagainstthetree。"
　　Riplooked，andbeheldaprecisecounterpartofhimself，ashe
　　wentupthemountain：apparentlyaslazy，andcertainlyasragged。The
　　poorfellowwasnowcompletelyconfounded。Hedoubtedhisown
　　identity，andwhetherhewashimselforanotherman。Inthemidstof
　　hisbewilderment，themaninthecockedhatdemandedwhohewas，and
　　whatwashisname？
　　"Godknows，"exclaimedhe，athiswit’send；"I’mnotmyself—I’m
　　somebodyelse—that’smeyonder—no—that’ssomebodyelsegotinto
　　myshoes—Iwasmyselflastnight，butIfellasleeponthe
　　mountain，andthey’vechangedmygun，andeverything’schanged，and
　　I’mchanged，andIcan’ttellwhat’smyname，orwhoIam！"
　　Thebystandersbegannowtolookateachother，nod，wink
　　significantly，andtaptheirfingersagainsttheirforeheads。There
　　wasawhisper，also，aboutsecuringthegun，andkeepingtheold
　　fellowfromdoingmischief，attheverysuggestionofwhichthe
　　self—importantmaninthecockedhatretiredwithsome
　　precipitation。Atthiscriticalmomentafreshcomelywomanpressed
　　throughthethrongtogetapeepatthegray—beardedman。Shehada
　　chubbychildinherarms，which，frightenedathislooks，beganto
　　cry。"Hush，Rip，"criedshe，"hush，youlittlefool；theoldmanwon’t
　　hurtyou。"Thenameofthechild，theairofthemother，thetoneof
　　hervoice，allawakenedatrainofrecollectionsinhismind。"Whatis
　　yourname，mygoodwoman？"askedhe。
　　"JudithGardenier。"
　　"Andyourfather’sname？"
　　"Ah，poorman，RipVanWinklewashisname，butit’stwentyyears
　　sincehewentawayfromhomewithhisgun，andneverhasbeenheardof
　　since—hisdogcamehomewithouthim；butwhetherheshothimself，
　　orwascarriedawaybytheIndians，nobodycantell。Iwasthenbut
　　alittlegirl。"
　　Riphadbutonequestionmoretoask；butheputitwithafaltering
　　voice：
　　"Where’syourmother？"