Paddington Novels 1-3

about them of course – but I’ve never actually seen one before. It… it must have been kept in a pantry or something. It seems to have a lot of butter inside it.”
    “I had a bit of an accident when I tried to put the plate in,” said Paddington.
    “We’re all very anxious to see the result of the photograph,” added Mr Brown hastily. “We were wondering if you could do it for us while we wait?”
    The man said he would be only too pleased to oblige. From all he had seen and heard he was quite eager to see the picture, and he hurried off to his dark-room leaving the Browns alone in the shop. He couldn’t remember ever having a young bear photographer in the shop before.
    When he returned there was a puzzled expression on his face. “You did say you took this picture today?” he asked, looking through the window at the bright sunshine.
    “That’s right,” said Paddington, eyeing him suspiciously.
    “Well, sir –” the man held the plate up to the light for Paddington to see, “it’s nice and sharp – and I can certainly see you all – but it looks as if it was foggy at the time. And these patches of light – like moonbeams – they’re very odd!”
    Paddington took the plate from the man and examined it carefully. “I expect that’s where I had my torch on under the bedclothes,” he said at last.
    “Well, I think it’s a very nice picture for a first attempt,” said Mrs Bird. “And I’d like six postcard prints, please. I’m sure Paddington’s Aunt Lucy in Peru would love one. She lives in the home for retired bears in Lima,” she added, for the benefit of the shopkeeper.
    “Does she?” said the man, looking most impressed. “Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever had any pictures sent overseas – especially to a home for retired bears in Peru.”
    He thought for a moment. “I tell you what,” he said, “if I could borrow this camera for a week to put in my shop window, I’ll not only do all the prints you want but I’ll take a photograph of each of you into the bargain. How’s that?”
    “I might have known,” said Mr Brown, as they were walking home, “that if Paddington took our photographs something odd would happen. Fancy getting all these pictures for nothing!”
    “Bears always fall on their feet,” said Mrs Bird, looking at Paddington.
    But Paddington wasn’t listening. He was still thinking about his camera.
    Early next morning he hurried down to the shop and was pleased to see it already occupied a position of honour in the middle of the window.
    Underneath it was a notice which said: A VERY RARE TYPE OF EARLY CAMERA – NOW OWNED BY MR PADDINGTON BROWN – A YOUNG LOCAL BEAR GENTLEMAN .
    But Paddington was even more pleased by another notice next to it which said: AN EXAMPLE OF HIS WORK – and underneath that was his picture.
    It was a little blurred and there were several paw marks near the edge, but one or two people in the neighbourhood came up and congratulated him and several of them said they could quite clearly recognise everyone in it. All in all Paddington thought it had been a very good three pounds’ worth.

Paddington gave a deep sigh and pulled his hat down over his ears in an effort to keep out the noise. There was such a hullabaloo going on it was difficult to write up the notes in his scrapbook.
    The excitement had all started when Mr and Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird received an unexpected invitation to a wedding. Luckily both Jonathan and Judy were out for the day or things might have been far worse. Paddington hadn’t been included in the invitation, but he didn’t really mind. He didn’t like weddings very much – apart from the free cake – and he’d been promised a piece of that whether he went or not.
    All the same he was beginning to wish everyone would hurry up and go. He had a special reason for wanting to be alone that day.
    He sighed again, wiped the pen carefully on the back of his paw, and then mopped up some ink blots which somehow or other had found their way on to the table. He was only just in time, for at that moment the door burst open and Mrs Brown rushed in.
    “Ah, there you are, Paddington!” She stopped short in the middle of the room and stared at him. “Why on earth are you wearing your hat indoors?” she asked. “And why is your tongue all blue?”
    Paddington stuck out his tongue as far as he could. “It is a funny colour,” he admitted, squinting down at it with interest. “Perhaps I’m sickening