from home more than twenty years agone. He took his dog and his gun with him, and the dog was found lying in front of the door early next morning. But as for father, whether he shot himself by accident or was carried away by the Indians, we never knew. I was only a little girl then.'
'And your mother? '
'Oh, she died only a short time since. She flew into such a passion with a pedlar who she thought had cheated her, that she broke a blood vessel.'
But though Rip had inquired after his wife, all affection for her had long died away, and he did not take this news much to heart. He flung his arms round his daughter and cried.
'I am your father. Don't you know me? Young Rip van Winkle once, now old Rip van Winkle. Does nobody know poor Rip van Winkle?'
The crowd heard, amazed, and in silence. Then suddenly an old woman went up to him, and peered closely into his face.
'Why, 'tis Rip van Wrinkle, for sure!' said she. 'Welcome home, neighbour! Where have you been these twenty long years?'
Rip's story was soon told, but the people who listened to it had as much difficulty in believing that you could sleep for twenty years and think it was one night, as Rip himself. 'Mad!' was the only interpretation they put upon the tale, though they did not say so openly.
In the midst of the general perplexity an old man was seen coming along the road, and someone called out:
'Here is Peter Vanderdonk! Let us ask him if he ever knew of such doings?'
'Ay, let us! He is the oldest dweller in the village, and we will abide by his words,' the rest answered in chorus, and they watched intently till Peter came up.
'Why! 'tis Rip van Winkle back again!' he exclaimed, just as the old woman had done. 'Right glad I am to see him, too.'
Who can tell the joy of poor Rip at this hearty greeting? So he was no ghost after all, as he had almost begun to think,
