The whole village was proud of old Jasper, proud of his age, proud
of his wounds, and proud of the medals that shone resplendent upon
his shrunken breast.
Any day he might have been seen hobbling along by the river, or
pottering among the flowers in his little garden, but oftener still
sitting on the bench in the sunshine beside the door of the "Three
Jolly Anglers."
Indeed, they made a fitting pair, the worn old soldier and the
ancient inn, alike both long behind the times, dreaming of the past,
rather than the future; which seemed to me like an invisible bond
between them. Thus, when old Jasper fell ill and taking to his bed
had it moved opposite the window where he could lie with his eyes
upon the battered gables of the inn - I for one could understand
the reason.
The Three Jolly Anglers is indeed ancient, its early records long
since lost beneath the dust of centuries; yet the years have but
served to mellow it. Men have lived and died, nations have waxed
and waned, still it stands, all unchanged beside the river, watching
the Great Tragedy which we call "Life" with that same look of supreme
wisdom, that half-waggish, half-kindly air, which I have already
mentioned once before.
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