第8章

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？"