When Rip Van Winkle awoke, he found himself still on the green hillside. He rubbed his eyes, for it was a bright, sunny morning. The birds were hopping and chirping among the bushes, and an eagle was flying high above his head.

‘Why I must have slept all night,’ thought Rip.
He looked round for the men who had been playing nine-pins, but they were not to be seen. His dog Wolf had vanished too, but his gun was still lying beside him. Rip was surprised to see that it was eaten away with rust and almost falling to pieces.

Rip stood up, lifted his rusty gun and went to look for the men whom he had seen the night before. ‘They have played some mean trick on me,’ said in anger. ‘I shall give them what they deserve.’

For an hour and more Rip hunted among the hills and valleys, but he could find neither the queer little men nor the place where they had played their game. At last, feeling very tired and stiff, he set off for the village. 'I expect that Dame Van Winkle will half kill me for staying out all night,' he said, as he trudged along.

When Rip reached the village, there were more surprises for him. The shops were strange and the houses had changed. Rip did not know the people whom he met in the village street, and their clothes were of a kind which he had never seen.

The children laughed and the dogs barked at him as he walked along. To tell the truth, it was no wonder that they did, for Rip's beard had grown very long and his clothes were tattered and torn.

At last Rip cried out to the people who stared at him, 'does nobody here know me? I am Rip Van Winkle.'
Just then, a young woman came along. 'Did you say Rip Van Winkle?' she said. 'My father was called by that name. One day, when I was a little girl, he went away to the hills with his dog Wolf and his gun. His dog came home without him, but my poor father has not been seen since that day.’

‘How long ago was that, my good woman?' asked Rip.
‘Full twenty years ago,' she answered.
'Twenty years!' cried Rip. ‘Then I must have slept for twenty years on the hillside, tough it seemed but one night to me! I am your father, Rip Van Winkle!’ he cried to the young woman.

‘The little men who played nine-pins must have been fairy men,’ Rip explained afterwards; ‘and the drink which I took from the keg must have been a magic one that sent me to sleep for twenty years.’
Dame Van Winkle had died while Rip was away and Rip’s house had fallen down, so he went to live with his daughter. The rest of his day he spent in peace, telling stories to the village children; and we may be sure that they were better stories than ever.