Paddington Novels 1-3

same, they couldn’t even begin to picture Paddington without it.
    “I had it on when I fell in the water,” cried Paddington, feeling on top of his head. “And now it isn’t there any more.”
    “Gosh,” said Jonathan. “It had so many holes in it too! Perhaps it’s sunk.”
    “Sunk!” cried Paddington in dismay. He ran to the edge of the landing stage and peered at the muddy water. “But it can’t have sunk! ”
    “He’s always worn it,” explained Mrs Brown to the boatman. “Ever since we’ve known him. It was given to him by his uncle in Peru.”
    “ Darkest Peru,” said Paddington.
    “Darkest Peru,” repeated the boatman, looking most impressed. He turned to Paddington and touched his forelock. “You’ll be wanting the Thames Conservancy, sir.”
    “No, I don’t,” said Paddington firmly. “I want my hat.”
    “He means they look after the river, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “They may have found it for you.”
    “It’s the current, sir,” explained the boatman. “Once you get away from the bankit’s very strong and it may have got swep’ over the weir.” He pointed along the river towards a row of buildings in the distance.
    “Got swep’ over the weir?” repeated Paddington slowly.
    The boatman nodded. “If it ain’t already been sucked into a whirlpool.”
    Paddington gave the man a hard stare. “My hat!” he exclaimed, hardly able to believe his ears. “Got sucked into a whirlpool?”

    “Come along,” said Mr Brown hastily. “If we hurry we may be just in time to see it go over.”
    Closely followed by Mr and Mrs Brown, Mrs Bird, Jonathan and Judy, the boatman and a crowd of interested sightseers, Paddington hurried along the towpath with a grim expression on his face, leaving a trail of water behind him.
    By the time they reached the weir the news had already spread and several men in peaked caps were peering anxiously into the water.
    “I hear you’ve lost a very valuable Persian cat,” said the lock-keeper to Mr Brown.
    “Not a cat ,” said Mr Brown. “A hat. And it’s from Peru.”
    “It belongs to this young bear gentleman, Fred,” explained the boatman as he joined them. “It’s a family heirloom.”
    “A family heirloom?” repeated the lock-keeper, scratching his head as he looked at Paddington. “I’ve never heard of a hat being a family heirloom before. Especially a bear’s heirloom.”
    “Mine is,” said Paddington firmly. “It’s a very rare sort of hat and it’s got a marmalade sandwich inside. I put it in there in case of anemergency.”
    “A marmalade sandwich?” said the lock-keeper, looking more and more surprised. “Wait a minute – it wouldn’t be that thing we fished out just now would it? All sort of shapeless… like a… like a…” He tried hard to think of words to describe it.
    “That sounds like it,” said Mrs Bird.
    “Herbert!” called the man to a boy who was standing nearby watching the proceedings with an open mouth. “See if we’ve still got that wassname in the shed.
    “It might well be an heirloom,” he continued, turning to the Browns. “It looks as if it’s been handed down a lot.”
    Everyone waited anxiously while Herbert disappeared into a small hut by the side of the lock. He returned after a few moments carrying a bucket.
    “We put it in here,” said the lock-keeper apologetically, “because we’d never seen anything like it before. We were going to send it to the museum.”
    Paddington peered into the bucket. “That’s not a wassname,” he exclaimed thankfully. “That’s my hat.”
    Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” said Mrs Bird, echoing alltheir thoughts.
    “There’s a fish inside it as well,” said the lock-keeper.
    “What!” exclaimed Paddington. “A fish? Inside my hat?”
    “That’s right,” said the man. “It must have been after your marmalade sandwich. Probably got in through one of the holes.”
    “Crikey,” exclaimed Jonathan admiringly, as the Browns gathered round the bucket. “So there is!”
    “That means Paddington’s won the prize for catching the first fish,” said Judy. “Congratulations!”
    “Well, if it’s some kind of competition,” said the lock-keeper, “I’d better get you a jam-jar to put it in, sir.
    “I suppose,” he said, looking rather doubtfully at the hat, “you’ll be wanting to wear it again?”
    As Paddington gave him a hard stare he backed away and hurried off in search of a jam-jar.