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, his face 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 you have 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 that bear 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 if he didn’t know what they were going to be as yet.
Paddington lay back and pulled the blankets up round his whiskers. It was warm and comfortable and he sighed contentedly as he closed his eyes. It was nice being a bear. Especially a bear called Paddington.
* See A Bear Called Paddington
Contents
Paddington sat up in bed with a puzzled expression on his face. Happenings at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens, particularly breakfast, always followed a strict timetable and it was most unusual for anything to waken him quite so early.
He took a careful look around his room, but everything seemed to be in its place.
The photograph of his Aunt Lucy, taken shortly before she entered the home for retired bears in Lima, was on the table beside the bed, along with his jar of special marmalade and several other items.
His old hat and duffle coat were both hanging on the door peg, and his Peruvian centavos were under the pillow.
Most important of all, when he lifted the bedclothes and peered underneath, his small leather suitcase with its secret compartment containing his scrapbook and a number of important papers was still at the bottom of the bed.
Paddington heaved a sigh of relief. Although he had lived with the Browns for over a year he had never quite got used to having a room of his own and he wasn’t the sort of bear who believed in taking chances.
It was at that point, just as he was absentmindedly dipping his paw into the marmalade jar before going back to sleep, that Paddington pricked up his ears and listened.
There were voices – quite a number of voices – coming from the garden. Several times he heard a door bang, and then, in the distance, he heard a noise remarkably like that of clinking plates followed by the sound of Mr Brown shouting orders.
Paddington scrambled out of bed and hurried across the room to the