The old shopkeeper led me through to the back of the shop. The room was filled with boxes and dusty photographs of people holding packages in their hands. Mr. Hopkins said, "We have a very wide choice of items for sale. Whenever I serve a new customer, I take his picture. "  Mr. Hopkins pointed to an ancient camera on a table. I began to appreciate the lovely items on sale. I spent a very pleasant hour being shown the _ in the shop. Finally,  I bought an antique jewelry box, a pair of riding boots and a sewing machine. I was very excited that I had found such a good little shop. "I will tell all my friends about your love-ly place. " I told the shopkeeper. "Please don't do that, sir. " said Mr. Hopkins. "This is a special place for special people. You must keep this shop a secret. " Then he took my photograph and handed me the picture straight away. " That was quick ! " I exclaimed. In the picture I looked proud and excited holding the presents I had bought there. On Christmas Day, my friends and relatives were delighted with the presents I had bought for them. For weeks, my brother begged me to take him to the wonderful little shop. I finally agreed. We walked along Oxford Street, past the department store and found---nothing. In its place was an empty space being used as a car park. I checked the area again. There was the music shop, and there was the department store. In between should have been Hopkins and Son, but it wasn't there. Just then, an old policeman came. "Are you looking for something, sir?" he asked. "I am looking for a little shop called Hopkins and Son. " "Oh yes, there was a shop here 'once called Hopkins and Son. But it was knocked down over 30 years ago. " I looked again at the place, then I reached into my pocket and took out the photograph that Mr. Hop-kins had taken of me holding my presents in the little shop. " How strange ! "  I screamed. What did the author think of Hopkins and Son?
Big and modem. Old and outdated. Little and dusty. Lovely and wonderful.