be so complicated,” said Mrs Bird.
“What I’m not sure about,” whispered Judy, “is why Paddington bothered having a bath if he’s taking the photograph.”
“That’s a point,” said Mr Brown. “How are you going to be in the picture, Paddington?”
Paddington gave Mr Brown a strange look. That was something he hadn’t thought of either, but he decided to meet that difficulty when it came. He had a lot of other important things to do first. “I’m going to press the shutter,” he said, after a moment’s thought, “and then run round the other side.”
“But even bears can’t run that fast,” persisted Mr Brown.
“I’m sure Paddington knows best, Henry,” whispered Mrs Brown. “And even if he doesn’t, for goodness’ sake don’t say anything. If he finds out he’s had a bath for nothing we shall never hear the last of it.”
“It seems a very long hood,” said Mrs Bird, looking towards the camera. “I can’t see Paddington at all.”
“That’s because he’s small,” explained Jonathan. “He’s had to lower the tripod.”
The Browns sat very still with a fixed smile on their faces as Paddington came out from beneath his hood. He made some complicated adjustments to the front of the camera and then, after announcing he was about to fit the photographic plate, disappeared again.
Suddenly, to everybody’s surprise, the camera and tripod began to rock backwards and forwards in a most dangerous manner.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “Whatever’s happening now?”
“Look out!” shouted Mr Brown. “It’s coming towards us.”
They all stood up and moved away, staring with wide-open eyes at the camera as it followed them. But when it got to within several feet it suddenly stopped, then turned left and headed towards a rose bush.
“I do hope he’s all right,” said Mrs Brown anxiously.
“I wonder if we ought to do anything,” said Mrs Bird, as there was a muffled cry from Paddington.
But before anyone could reply, the camera rebounded from the rose bush and shot back across the lawn. It went twice round the pond in the middle and then jumped up in the air several times before toppling over, to land with a dull thud in the middle of Mr Brown’s best flower bed.
“Good heavens!” shouted Mr Brown, as he rushed forward. “My petunias!”
“Never mind your petunias, Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “What about Paddington?”
“Well, no wonder,” said Mr Brown as he bent down and lifted the hood. “He’s got his head stuck inside the camera!”
“I should be careful, Dad,” said Jonathan as Mr Brown began pulling at Paddington’s legs. “His whiskers might be caught in the shutter.”
Mr Brown stopped pulling and crawled round to peer through the lens. “I can’t see anything,” he said after a moment’s pause. “It’s all dark inside.” He tapped the case and there came another faint cry from within.
“Butter!” said Mrs Bird, hurrying towards the kitchen. “There’s nothing like butter when anyone’s stuck.” Mrs Bird was a great believer in butter. She had used it several times in the past when Paddington had got himself stuck.
All the same, even with Jonathan holding one end and Mr Brown pulling on the other, it was some while before Paddington’s head finally came away from the camera. He sat on the grass rubbing his ears and looking very crestfallen. Things hadn’t gone at all according to plan.
“I vote,” said Mr Brown, when order had finally been restored, “that we set everything up exactly as it was before and tie a string to the shutter. Then Paddington can sit in the group with us and work it from a distance. It’ll be much safer that way.”
Everyone agreed that this was a good idea, and while Mr Brown arranged the group once again, Paddington busied himself setting up his camera and fitting the photographic plate inside it – making sure to stand well back this time. There was a slight setback when he pulled the string too hard and the tripod fell over, but finally the big moment arrived. There was a click from the camera and everyone relaxed.
The man in the photographic shop looked most surprised when Mrs Bird, all the Browns, and Paddington trooped in through the door a little later.
“It’s certainly a very rare sort,” he said, examining Paddington’s camera with interest. “Very rare. I’ve read 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