Paddington Novels 1-3

containing a bottle of her favourite lavender water. “How did you guess? I finished my last bottle only a week ago.”
    “I’m sorry about your parcel, Mrs Bird,” said Paddington, looking across the room. “I had a bit of a job with the knots.”
    “It must be something special,” said Mr Brown. “It seems all string and no parcel.”
    “That’s because it’s really clothes-line,” explained Paddington, “not string. I rescued it when I got stuck in the revolving doors at Crumbold & Ferns.”
    “That makes two presents in one,” said Mrs Bird, as she freed the last of the knots and began unwinding yards and yards of paper. “How exciting. I can’t think what it can be.
    “Why,” she exclaimed. “I do believe it’s a brooch! And it’s shaped like a bear – how lovely!” Mrs Bird looked most touched as she handed the present round for everyone to see. “I shall keep it in a safe place,” she added, “and only wear it on special occasions – when I want to impress people.”
    “I don’t know what mine is,” said Mr Gruber, as they all turned to him. He squeezed the parcel. “It’s such a funny shape.
    “It’s a drinking mug!” he exclaimed, hisface lighting up with pleasure. “And it even has my name painted on the side!”
    “It’s for your elevenses, Mr Gruber,” said Paddington. “I noticed your old one was getting rather chipped.”
    “I’m sure it will make my cocoa taste better than it ever has before,” said Mr Gruber.
    He stood up and cleared his throat. “I think I would like to offer a vote of thanks to young Mr Brown,” he said, “for all his nice presents. I’m sure he must have given them a great deal of thought.”
    “Hear! Hear!” echoed Mr Brown, as he filled his pipe.
    Mr Gruber felt under his chair. “And while I think of it, Mr Brown, I have a small present for you.”
    Everyone stood round and watched while Paddington struggled with his parcel, eager to see what Mr Gruber had bought him. A gasp of surprise went up as he tore the paper to one side, for it was a beautifully bound leather scrapbook, with ‘Paddington Brown’ printed in gold leaf on the cover.
    Paddington didn’t know what to say, but Mr Gruber waved his thanks to one side. “I know how you enjoy writing about your adventures, Mr Brown,” he said. “And youhave so many I’m sure your present scrapbook must be almost full.”
    “It is,” said Paddington, earnestly. “And I’m sure I shall have lots more. Things happen to me, you know. But I shall only put my best ones in here!”
    When he made his way up to bed later that evening, his mind was in such a whirl, and he was so full of good things, he could hardly climb the stairs – let alone think about anything. He wasn’t quite sure which he had enjoyed most. The presents, the Christmas dinner, the games, or the tea – with the special marmalade-layer birthday cake Mrs Bird had made in his honour. Pausing on the corner half way up, he decided he had enjoyed giving his own presents best of all.
    “Paddington! Whatever have you got there?” He jumped and hastily hid his paw behind his back as he heard Mrs Bird calling from the bottom of the stairs.
    “It’s only some five pence pudding, Mrs Bird,” he called, looking over the banisters guiltily. “I thought I might get hungry during the night and I didn’t want to take any chances.”
    “Honestly!” Mrs Bird exclaimed, as she was joined by the others. “What does thatbear look like? A paper hat about ten sizes too big on his head – Mr Gruber’s scrapbook in one paw – and a plate of Christmas pudding in the other!”
    “I don’t care what he looks like,” said Mrs Brown, “so long as he stays that way. The place wouldn’t be the same without him.”
    But Paddington was too far away to hear what was being said. He was already sitting up in bed, busily writing in his scrapbook.
    First of all, there was a very important notice to go on the front page. It said:
     
    PADINGTUN BROWN,
32 WINDSOR GARDENS,
LUNDUN ,
ENGLAND,
YUROPE,
THE WORLD .
     
    Then, on the next page he added, in large capital letters: MY ADDVENTURES. CHAPTER WUN .
    Paddington sucked his pen thoughtfully for a moment and then carefully replaced the top on the bottle of ink before it had a chance to fall over on the sheets. He felt much too sleepy to write any more. But he didn’t really mind. Tomorrow was another day – and he felt quite sure he would have some more adventures – even