Легенда о Сонной Лощине
Found Among The Papers Of The Late Diedrich Knickerbocker.
Anopeninginthetreesnowcheeredhimwiththehopesthatthechurchbridgewasathand.Thewaveringreflectionofasilverstarinthebosomofthebrooktoldhimthathewasnotmistaken.Hesawthewallsofthechurchdimlyglaringunderthetreesbeyond.HerecollectedtheplacewhereBromBones’sghostlycompetitorhaddisappeared.“IfIcanbutreachthatbridge,”thoughtIchabod,“Iamsafe.”Justthenheheardtheblacksteedpantingandblowingclosebehindhim;heevenfanciedthathefelthishotbreath.Anotherconvulsivekickintheribs,andoldGunpowderspranguponthebridge;hethunderedovertheresoundingplanks;hegainedtheoppositeside;andnowIchabodcastalookbehindtoseeifhispursuershouldvanish,accordingtorule,inaflashoffireandbrimstone.Justthenhesawthegoblinrisinginhisstirrups,andintheveryactofhurlinghisheadathim.Ichabodendeavoredtododgethehorriblemissile,buttoolate.Itencounteredhiscraniumwithatremendouscrash,—hewastumbledheadlongintothedust,andGunpowder,theblacksteed,andthegoblinrider,passedbylikeawhirlwind.
Thenextmorningtheoldhorsewasfoundwithouthissaddle,andwiththebridleunderhisfeet,soberlycroppingthegrassathismaster’sgate.Ichaboddidnotmakehisappearanceatbreakfast;dinner-hourcame,butnoIchabod.Theboysassembledattheschoolhouse,andstrolledidlyaboutthebanksofthebrook;butnoschoolmaster.HansVanRippernowbegantofeelsomeuneasinessaboutthefateofpoorIchabod,andhissaddle.
