A troop of strange
children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray
beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old
acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was
altered; it was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses
which he had never seen before, and those which had been his
familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the doors-
strange faces at the windows- every thing was strange. His mind now
misgave him; he began to doubt whether both he and the world around
him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he
had left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill mountains-
there ran the silver Hudson at a distance- there was every hill and
dale precisely as it had always been- Rip was sorely perplexed-
"That flagon last night," thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!"
It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own
house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment
to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone
to decay- the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off
the hinges.
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