The old antique shop - part two
Part two is ready. I've not completely decided where I want this story to go yet, but I see these first parts as an introduction, where I can present different subjects.
One day, Mr. Sullivan brought a dog home with him. It was huge and grey and scared me at first, but Mr. Sullivan put me and the dog very close and whispered to the dog: ”this here is Francis, he is a very good friend of mine and you will let him in the shop at all hours, even while I’m away.” The dog looked at him with eyes that seemed very old and very wise and then licked my hand with it’s huge tongue.
”He’s from Ireland,” Mr. Sullivan explained, and I was surprised that it didn’t come from a more exotic place. ”Your ancestors had dogs like this.”
I began to explain that I was in no way Irish, but he just smiled at me.
”There are still many things that you don’t know.”
I must admit I was still a bit scared of the big dog for quite some time after our first meeting. His name was Cuchullain, which I was told was the name of an old irish hero, and I’d treat him with great respect for there was something noble about him.
The reason for Mr. Sullivan to bring this huge dog home was more than just having found it, for after all it was neither antique nor terribly exotic, he wanted a guard dog.
”Miss D is a wonderful woman, and very good at keeping the shop for me, but I have many a valuable item in here and if a burglar were to come here... well I wouldn’t want her getting hurt. Besides, she sleeps upstairs when she's here, so she might not get down in time to stop them.”
I had been playing with a tiny ivory elephant set with rubies, leading him in battle against the ancient lizard skeleton that lurked upon a shelf, half-hidden behind japanese pots and a statue of a sitting man with a strange haircut. Now I put him down and turned to Mr. Sullivan.
”Do you think there cold be burglars?” The shop seemed so removed from everyday life that the mere thought of someone breaking in... well, to me it was as unthinkable as someone breaking into a church.
Mr. Sullivans face was impossible to read.
”I’m afraid so, my child,” he said after some time, then quickly composed himself and put on a cheery face, ”what do you say, shall we make some tea?”
I gladly accepted, it had been some time since I’d been able to stay for tea and I had missed the strange biscuit-messages that could excite Mr. Sullivan so.
One day, Mr. Sullivan brought a dog home with him. It was huge and grey and scared me at first, but Mr. Sullivan put me and the dog very close and whispered to the dog: ”this here is Francis, he is a very good friend of mine and you will let him in the shop at all hours, even while I’m away.” The dog looked at him with eyes that seemed very old and very wise and then licked my hand with it’s huge tongue.
”He’s from Ireland,” Mr. Sullivan explained, and I was surprised that it didn’t come from a more exotic place. ”Your ancestors had dogs like this.”
I began to explain that I was in no way Irish, but he just smiled at me.
”There are still many things that you don’t know.”
I must admit I was still a bit scared of the big dog for quite some time after our first meeting. His name was Cuchullain, which I was told was the name of an old irish hero, and I’d treat him with great respect for there was something noble about him.
The reason for Mr. Sullivan to bring this huge dog home was more than just having found it, for after all it was neither antique nor terribly exotic, he wanted a guard dog.
”Miss D is a wonderful woman, and very good at keeping the shop for me, but I have many a valuable item in here and if a burglar were to come here... well I wouldn’t want her getting hurt. Besides, she sleeps upstairs when she's here, so she might not get down in time to stop them.”
I had been playing with a tiny ivory elephant set with rubies, leading him in battle against the ancient lizard skeleton that lurked upon a shelf, half-hidden behind japanese pots and a statue of a sitting man with a strange haircut. Now I put him down and turned to Mr. Sullivan.
”Do you think there cold be burglars?” The shop seemed so removed from everyday life that the mere thought of someone breaking in... well, to me it was as unthinkable as someone breaking into a church.
Mr. Sullivans face was impossible to read.
”I’m afraid so, my child,” he said after some time, then quickly composed himself and put on a cheery face, ”what do you say, shall we make some tea?”
I gladly accepted, it had been some time since I’d been able to stay for tea and I had missed the strange biscuit-messages that could excite Mr. Sullivan so.