Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish,
well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or
brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would
rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself, he
would have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife
kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his
carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning,
noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and every thing
he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence.
Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and that,
by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders,
shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however,
always provoked a fresh volley from his wife; so that he was fain to
draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house- the only
side which, in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband.
Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much
hen-pecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as
companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as
the cause of his master's going so often astray.
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