From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by
his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the
tranquillity of the assemblage and call the members all to naught; nor
was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the
daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright with
encouraging her husband in habits of idleness.
Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only
alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his
wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here
he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the
contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a
fellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy
mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst
I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would
wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can
feel pity I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all
his heart.
In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had
unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill
mountains.
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