from Holland at the time of the settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was that, though these folks were
evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the
most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of
pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the
scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled,
echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from
their play, and stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, and
such strange, uncouth countenances, that his heart turned within him,
and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the contents of
the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the
company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in
profound silence, and then returned to their game.

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when
no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had
much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty
soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked
another; and he repeated his visits to the flagon so often that at
length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head
gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

II

On waking he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen
the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a bright, sunny
morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and
the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.
"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled
the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of
liquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among the rocks--the
woe-begone party at ninepins--the flagon--"Oh! that flagon! that wicked
flagon!" thought Rip; "what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?"

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled
fowling piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel
incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He
now suspected that the grave revelers of the mountain had put a trick
upon him and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun.
Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a
squirrel or