Morning, noon
He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother 's heels , equipped in a pair of his father 's cast-off galligaskins , which he had much ado to hold up with one hand , as a fine lady does her train in bad weather . Rip Van Winkle , however , was one of those happy mortals , of foolish , well-oiled dispositions , who take the world easy , eat white bread or brown , whichever can be got with least thought or trouble , and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound . If left to himself , he would have whistled life away , in perfect contentment ; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness , his carelessness , and the ruin he was bringing on his family . Morning , noon , and night , her tongue was incessantly going , and every thing he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence . Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind , and that , by frequent use , had grown into a habit . He shrugged his shoulders , shook his head , cast up his eyes , but said nothing . This , however , always provoked a fresh volley from his wife , so that he was fain to draw off his forces , and take to the outside of the house -- the only side which , in truth , belongs to a henpecked husband .