"
Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he
went up the mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The
poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own
identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of
his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and
what was his name?
"God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not myself- I'm
somebody else- that's me yonder- no- that's somebody else got into
my shoes- I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the
mountain, and they've changed my gun, and every thing's changed, and
I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my name, or who I am!"
The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink
significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There
was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old
fellow from doing mischief, at the very suggestion of which the
self-important man in the cocked hat retired with some
precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh comely woman pressed
through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man.
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