Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  “If you do go out after breakfast, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown, “I think it would be nice if you could clear Mr Curry’s path for him before you do ours. We all know it wasn’t your fault about his suit last night, but it would show you mean well.”

  “That’s a good idea,” exclaimed Jonathan. “We’ll give you a hand. Then we can use all the snow we get to build a snowman this afternoon. How about it, Paddington?”

  Paddington looked rather doubtful. Whenever he tried to do anything for Mr Curry, something always seemed to go wrong.

  “But no playing snowballs,” warned Mrs Bird. “Mr Curry always sleeps with his bedroom window open – even in the middle of winter. If you wake him he won’t like it at all.”

  Paddington, Jonathan and Judy agreed to be as quiet as they could and as soon as breakfast was over they dressed in their warmest clothes and rushed outside to look at the snow.

  Paddington was very impressed. It was much deeper than he had expected, but not at all as cold as he thought it would be, except when he stood for very long in the one place. Within a few minutes all three were busy with shovels and brooms clearing Mr Curry’s paths for him.

  Jonathan and Judy started on the pavement outside the house. Paddington fetched his seaside bucket and spade and began work on Mr Curry’s back garden path, which was not quite so wide.

  He filled his bucket with snow and then tipped it through a hole in the Browns’ fence near the place they intended building a snowman later in the day. It was hard work, for the snow was deep and came right up to the edge of his duffle coat, and as fast as he cleared a space, more snow came down, covering the part he’d just done.

  After working for what seemed like hours, Paddington decided to have a rest. But no sooner had he settled himself on the bucket than something hit him on the back of the head, nearly knocking his hat off into the bargain.

  “Caught you!” yelled Jonathan with delight. “Come on, Paddington – make yourself some snowballs – then we can have a fight.”

  Paddington jumped up from his bucket and dodged round the side of Mr Curry’s shed. Then, after first making sure Mrs Bird was nowhere in sight, he gathered up some snow and rolled it into a hard ball. Holding it firmly in his right paw he closed his eyes and took careful aim.

  “Yah!” shouted Jonathan, as Paddington opened his eyes. “Missed me by a mile. You’d better get some practice in!”

  Paddington stood behind Mr Curry’s shed scratching his head and examining his paw. He knew the snowball must have gone somewhere but he hadn’t the least idea where. After thinking about it for some time he decided to have another go. If he crept very quietly round the side of the house he might even be able to catch Jonathan unawares and get his own back.

  It was as he tip-toed past Mr Curry’s back door, clutching a snowball in his paw, that he noticed for the first time the door was open. The wind was blowing the snow through into the kitchen and there was already a small pile of it on the mat. Paddington hesitated for a moment and then pulled the door shut. There was a click as it closed, and he carefully tested it with his paw to make certain it was properly fastened. He was sure Mr Curry wouldn’t want snow all over his kitchen floor, and he felt very pleased at being able to do another good deed – apart from sweeping the path.

  To Paddington’s surprise, when he peered round the corner at the front of the house Mr Curry was already there. He was wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas and he looked cold and cross. He broke off his conversation with Jonathan and Judy and stared in Paddington’s direction.

  “Ah, there you are, bear!” he exclaimed. “Have you been throwing snowballs?”

  “Snowballs?” repeated Paddington, hurriedly putting his paw behind his back. “Did you say snowballs, Mr Curry?”

  “Yes,” said Mr Curry. “Snowballs! A large one came through my bedroom window a moment ago and landed right in the middle of my bed. Now it’s all melted on my hot-water bottle! If I thought you had done it on purpose, bear…”

  “Oh no, Mr Curry,” said Paddington, earnestly. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that on purpose. I don’t think I could. It’s difficult throwing snowballs by paw – especially big ones like that.”

  “Like what?” asked Mr Curry, suspiciously.

  “Like the one you said landed in your bed,” said Paddington sounding rather confused. He was beginning to wish Mr Curry would hurry up and go. The snowball was making his paw very cold.

  “Mmm,” said Mr Curry. “Well, I’m not standing out here in the snow discussing bears’ pranks. I came downstairs intending to tell you off.” He looked round approvingly at the clean pavement. “But I must admit I’ve been pleasantly surprised. In fact,” he turned to go back indoors, “if you make as good a job of the rest I might even give you ten pence!

  “Between you,” he added, in case they mistook his meaning.

  “Ten pence!” exclaimed Jonathan disgustedly. “One measly ten-penny piece.”

  “Oh well,” said Judy, “at least we’ve done our good deed for the day. It should last for a while – even with Mr Curry.”

  Paddington looked doubtful. “I don’t think it’ll last very long,” he said, listening hard. “In fact, I think it’s nearly over.” Even as he spoke there came a roar of rage from Mr Curry followed by several loud bangs.

  “Whatever’s up now?” exclaimed Judy. “That sounds like Mr Curry banging on his back door.”

  “I thought I was doing him a good turn,” said Paddington, looking very worried, “so I shut it. I think he must be locked out.”

  “Oh gosh, Paddington,” groaned Judy. “You are an unlucky bear today.”

  “Who shut my door?” roared Mr Curry as he strode round to the front again. “Who locked me out of my house? Bear!” he barked. “Where are you, bear?”

  Mr Curry glared down the road but there was not a soul in sight. If he had been a little less cross, he might have noticed three distinct sets of pawprints and footprints where Paddington, Jonathan, and Judy had beaten a hasty retreat.

  After a distance the three tracks separated. Jonathan’s and Judy’s disappeared into the Browns’ house. Paddington’s went towards the market.

  He had seen quite enough of Mr Curry for one day. Besides, it had gone half past ten and he had promised to meet Mr Gruber for morning cocoa at eleven.

  *

  “I really think Mr Curry has gone a bit funny in the head,” said Mrs Brown, later that day. “He was standing outside the house in his pyjamas and dressing gown this morning – in all that snow. Then he started running around in circles waving his fist.”

  “Mmm,” replied Mrs Bird, “I saw Paddington playing snowballs in his back garden just before that happened.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown. She looked out of the window. The sky had cleared at last and the garden, with all the trees bowed down under the weight of snow, looked just like a Christmas card. “It seems very still,” she said. “Almost as if something was about to happen.”

  Mrs Bird followed her gaze. “They’ve made a wonderful snowman. I’ve never seen quite such a good one before. It’s only small but it looks most life-like.”

  “Isn’t that Paddington’s old hat they’ve put on top?” asked Mrs Brown. She looked round as the door opened and Jonathan and Judy entered the room. “We were just saying,” she continued, “what a lovely snowman you’ve made.”

  “It isn’t a snowman,” said Jonathan mysteriously. “It’s a snowbear. It’s meant to be a surprise for Dad. He’s coming down the road now.”

  “It looks as if he’ll have more than one surprise coming his way,” said Mrs Bird. “I can see Mr Curry waiting for him by the fence.”

  “Oh crikey,” groaned Jonathan. “That’s torn it.”

  “Trust Mr Curry to spoil things,” said Judy. “I hope he doesn’t keep Dad talking too long.”

  “Why, dear?” asked Mrs Brown. “Does it matter?”

  “Does it matter?” cried Jonathan, rushing to the window. “I�
�ll say it does!”

  Mrs Brown didn’t pursue the subject. She had no doubt she would hear all about it in due course – whatever it was.

  It took Mr Brown a long time to get rid of Mr Curry and put his car away in the garage. When he did come indoors he looked very fed up.

  “That Mr Curry,” he exclaimed. “Telling tales about Paddington again. If I’d been there this morning he’d have got more than a snowball in his bed.” He looked round the room. “By the way, where is Paddington?” Paddington usually liked helping Mr Brown put his car away and it was most unusual for him not to be there ready to give paw signals.

  “I haven’t seen him for ages,” said Mrs Brown. She looked at Jonathan and Judy. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Didn’t he jump out at you, Dad?” asked Jonathan.

  “Jump out at me!” exclaimed Mr Brown, looking puzzled. “Not that I know of. Why, was he supposed to?”

  “But you saw the snowbear, didn’t you?” asked Judy. “Just by the garage.”

  “Snowbear?” said Mr Brown. “Good heavens – you don’t mean – that wasn’t Paddington?”

  “What’s that young bear been up to now?” asked Mrs Bird. “Do you mean to say he’s been out there covered in snow all this time? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Well, it wasn’t really his idea,” said Jonathan. “Not all of it.”

  “I expect he heard Mr Curry’s voice and got frightened,” said Judy.

  “Just you bring him indoors at once,” said Mrs Bird. “Why, he might catch his death of cold. I’ve a good mind to send him to bed without any supper.”

  It wasn’t that Mrs Bird was cross with Paddington – she was simply worried in case anything happened to him, and when he came through the door her manner changed at once.

  She took one of his paws in her hand and then felt his nose. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “He’s like an iceberg.”

  Paddington shivered. “I don’t think I like being a snowbear very much,” he said in a weak voice.

  “I should think not, indeed,” exclaimed Mrs Bird. She turned to the others. “That bear’s going to bed at once – with a hot-water bottle and a bowl of broth. Then I’m sending for the doctor.”

  With that she made Paddington sit by the fire while she hurried upstairs to fetch a thermometer.

  Paddington lay back in Mr Brown’s armchair with his eyes closed. He certainly felt very strange. He couldn’t remember ever having felt like it before. One moment he seemed to be as cold as the snow outside, the next he felt as if he was on fire.

  He wasn’t quite sure how long he lay there, but he vaguely remembered Mrs Bird sticking something long and cold under his tongue, which she told him not to bite. After that he didn’t remember much more, except that everyone started running around, preparing soup and filling hot-water bottles, and generally making sure his room was comfortable for him.

  Within a few minutes everything was ready and the Browns all trooped upstairs to make sure he was properly tucked in bed. Paddington thanked them all very much and then, after waving a paw limply in their direction, lay back and closed his eyes.

  “He must be feeling bad,” whispered Mrs Bird. “He hasn’t even touched his soup.”

  “Gosh,” said Jonathan miserably, as he followed Judy down the stairs. “It was mostly my idea. I shall never forgive myself if anything happens to him.”

  “It was my idea as well,” said Judy, comfortingly, “I expect we all thought of it together. Anyway,” she added, as the front doorbell rang, “that must be the doctor – so we shall soon know.”

  Doctor MacAndrew was a long time with Paddington, and when he came downstairs again he looked very serious.

  “How is he, Doctor?” asked Mrs Brown, anxiously. “He’s not seriously ill, is he?”

  “Aye, he is,” said Doctor MacAndrew. “Ye may as well know. That young bear’s verra ill indeed. Playing in the snow when he’s not used to it, no doubt. I’ve given him a wee drop o’ medicine to tide him over the night and I’ll be along first thing in the morning.”

  “But he is going to be all right, isn’t he, Doctor MacAndrew?” cried Judy.

  Doctor MacAndrew shook his head gravely. “I wouldna care to give an opinion,” he said. “I wouldna care to give an opinion at all.” With that he bade them all good night and drove away.

  It was a very sad party of Browns that went upstairs that evening. While they were getting ready for bed, Mrs Bird quietly moved her things into Paddington’s room so that she could keep an eye on him during the night.

  But she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t think of sleep. Several times the door to Paddington’s room gently opened and either Mr and Mrs Brown or Jonathan and Judy crept in to see how he was getting on. Somehow it didn’t seem possible that anything could happen to Paddington. But every time they looked at Mrs Bird she just shook her head and went on with her sewing so that they couldn’t see her face.

  The next day the news of Paddington’s illness quickly spread around the neighbourhood and by lunch time there was a steady stream of callers asking after him.

  Mr Gruber was the first one on the scene. “I wondered what had happened to young Mr Brown when he didn’t turn up for elevenses this morning,” he said, looking very upset. “I kept his cocoa hot for over an hour.”

  Mr Gruber went away again, but returned shortly afterwards carrying a bunch of grapes and a large basket of fruit and flowers from the rest of the traders in the Portobello market. “I’m afraid there isn’t much about at this time of the year,” he said apologetically, “but we’ve done the best we can.”

  He paused at the door. “I’m sure he’ll be all right, Mrs Brown,” he said. “With so many people wanting him to get well, I’m sure he will.”

  Mr Gruber raised his hat to Mrs Brown and then began walking slowly in the direction of the park. Somehow he didn’t want to go back to his shop that day.

  Even Mr Curry knocked on the door that afternoon and brought with him an apple and a jar of calves’ foot jelly, which he said was very good for invalids.

  Mrs Bird took all the presents up to Paddington’s room and placed them carefully beside his bed in case he should wake up and want something to eat.

  Doctor MacAndrew called a number of times during the next two days but, despite everything he did, there seemed to be no change at all. “We’ll just have to bide our time,” was all he would say.

  It was three days later, at breakfast time, that the door to the Browns’ dining-room burst open and Mrs Bird rushed in.

  “Oh, do come quickly,” she cried. “It’s Paddington!”

  Everyone jumped up from the table and stared at Mrs Bird.

  “He’s… he’s not worse, is he?” asked Mrs Brown, voicing the thoughts of them all.

  “Mercy me, no,” said Mrs Bird, fanning herself with the morning paper. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s much better. He’s sitting up in bed asking for a marmalade sandwich!”

  “A marmalade sandwich?” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “Oh, thank goodness!” She wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. “I never knew hearing the word marmalade could make me feel so happy.”

  Just as she spoke there was a loud ring from the bell which Mr Brown had installed by the side of Paddington’s bed in case of emergency.

  “Oh dear,” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “I hope I haven’t spoken too soon!” She rushed out of the room and everyone followed her up the stairs to Paddington’s room. When they entered, Paddington was lying on his back with his paws in the air, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Paddington!” called Mrs Brown, hardly daring to breathe. “Paddington, are you all right?”

  Everyone listened anxiously for the reply. “I think I’ve had a bit of a relapse,” said Paddington, in a weak voice. “I think I’d better have two marmalade sandwiches – just to make sure.”

  There was a sigh of relief from the Browns and Mrs Bird as they exchanged glances. Even if he wasn’
t quite himself yet, Paddington was definitely on the road to recovery.

  The few weeks before Christmas were usually busy ones for Mrs Bird. There were so many mince-pies, puddings, and cakes to be made that much of her time was spent in the kitchen. This year matters hadn’t been helped by the fact that Paddington was at home for most of the day ‘convalescing’ after his illness. Paddington was very interested in mince-pies, and if he had opened the oven door once to see how they were getting on, he’d done it a dozen times.

  Paddington’s convalescence had been a difficult time for the Browns. While he had remained in bed it had been bad enough, because he kept getting grape-pips all over the sheets. But if anything, matters had got worse once he was up and about. He wasn’t very good at ‘doing nothing’ and it had become a full-time occupation keeping him amused and out of trouble. He had even had several goes at knitting something – no one ever quite knew what – but he’d got in such a tangle with the wool, and it had become so sticky with the marmalade, that in the end they had to throw it away. Even the dustman had said very nasty things about it when he came to collect the rubbish.

  “He seems very quiet at the moment,” said Mrs Brown. “I think he’s busy with his Christmas list.”

  “You’re not really taking him shopping with you this afternoon, are you?” asked Mrs Bird. “You know what happened last time.”*

  Mrs Brown sighed. She had vivid memories of the last time she had taken Paddington shopping. “I can’t not take him,” she said. “I did promise and he’s been looking forward to it so much.”

  Paddington liked shopping. He always enjoyed looking in the shop windows and since he had read in the paper about all the Christmas decorations, he had thought of very little else. Besides, he had a special reason for wanting to go shopping this time. Although he hadn’t told anyone, Paddington had been saving hard for some while in order to buy the Browns and his other friends some presents.