offering up a silent prayer.
“No,” he said, slowly and distinctly. “You haven’t got it quite right. We haven’t hit anything, you have. And it isn’t just a car, it’s …”
The examiner broke off and gazed up at the driving mirror in mute despair as his eyes caught the reflection of those belonging to his superior in the back seat.
“It happens to be mine,” said a grim voice from behind.
Paddington sank back into his seat as the full horror of the situation came home to him.
“Oh dear, Mr Bogey,” he said unhappily. “I do hope that doesn’t mean you’ve failed your test!”
As with Mr Brown’s encounter with the Police, Paddington’s disaster at the Test Centre was a topic of conversation in the Brown household for many days afterwards. Opinions as to the possible outcome were sharply divided. There were those who thought he would be bound to hear something more, and others who thought the whole thing was so complicated nothing would be done about it, but none of them quite foresaw what would happen.
One evening, just as they were sitting down to their evening meal, there was an unexpected ring at the front-door bell. Mrs Bird hurried off to answer it, and when she returned she was accompanied, to everyone’s surprise, by Paddington’s examiner.
“Please don’t get up,” he exclaimed, as Paddington jumped to his feet in alarm and hurried round to the far side of the table for safety.
He removed a large brown envelope from his briefcase and placed it on the table in front of Paddington’s plate. “I … er … I happened to be passing so I thought I would drop this in for young Mr Brown.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown nervously. “It looks very official. I do hope it isn’t bad news.”
The man permitted himself a smile. “Nothing like that,” he said. “Congratulations on passing your test,” he continued, turning to Mr Brown. “I was glad to hear you were able to take it again so quickly. All’s well that ends well, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that now my superior officer has had his bumper straightened you’d hardly know anything had happened.”
He mopped his brow with a handkerchief as the memory of it came flooding back. “It all sounded much worse than it actually was. As you know, I was being examined myself at the time, so I was under a certain amount of strain. As a matter of fact, I came through with flying colours. The chief examiner thought that in the circumstances I did extremely well. He’s even recommended me for promotion.”
“But whatever is it?” cried Judy, as Paddington opened the envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper with an inscription on it.
The examiner gave a cough. “It’s a special test certificate,” he said. “It enables the owner to drive vehicles in group S.”
“Trust Paddington!” said Jonathan. “I bet he’s the only one who’s ever driven into the back of an examiner’s car and still passed his test into the bargain.”
Mr Brown gave the examiner a puzzled look. “Group S?” he repeated. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“It’s very rare.” The examiner permitted himself another smile. “In fact there probably isn’t another one like it in the whole world. It’s for shopping baskets on wheels. I noticed young Mr Brown had one with him at the time of our … er … meeting.”
“Gosh, Paddington,” Judy gazed at him in relief. “What are you going to do with it?”
Paddington considered the matter for a moment. He really felt quite overwhelmed by his latest piece of good fortune. “I think,” he announced at last, “I shall fix it to the front of my basket. Then if I ever have trouble at the supermarket cash desk I shall be able to show it.”
“What a good idea,” said the examiner, looking very pleased at the reception his gift had met. “And you’ll be pleased to see it’s made out for life. That means,” he added, gently but firmly, “that you need never, ever, ever, come and see us to take your test again!”
Chapter Two IN AND OUT OF TROUBLE
One morning, soon after the visit from the driving examiner, Paddington was pottering about in the garden doing some testing of his own in order to make sure Mr Brown’s fruit was properly ripe, when he happened to glance through a knothole in the nearby fence. As he did so he nearly fell over backwards into the raspberry canes with astonishment at the sight which met his eyes.
The fence belonged to the Browns’ neighbour, Mr Curry, and in the normal course of events there was seldom anything of any great interest to see. Gardening wasn’t one of Mr Curry’s strong points. Apart from one or two shrubs and a couple of old trees, most of the ground was given over to what he called ‘the lawn’, but which in reality was nothing more than a patch of rough grass.
For once, however, it was looking unusually neat and tidy. In fact, overnight it had undergone nothing less than a transformation. The grass had been newly mown, the bushes pruned, and the trees had been lopped of their lower branches. There was even a small table in the centre of the lawn on which had been placed a tray with a glass and a jug of what looked like orangeade.
Paddington rubbed his eyes and then took a closer look through the hole. Now that he thought about it, he remembered hearing the sound of sawing the day before. At the time he hadn’t taken much notice of it, and never in his wildest dreams had he pictured it coming from Mr Curry’s garden.
The Browns’ neighbour had obviously been busy, but it wasn’t the view of his actual garden, nor the orangeade that caused Paddington’s astonishment; it was the sight of something very odd suspended between the two trees. At first glance it seemed to be a cross between a very large hairnet that had been hung out to dry, and some overgrown knitting that had gone sadly wrong; in fact he couldn’t remember having seen anything quite like it before in the whole of his life.
It was all very strange and Paddington was about to go indoors in order to tell Mrs Bird about it when he had his second shock of the morning.
Having rubbed his eyes once more so as to make doubly sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing, he opened them again in order to take one last look, only to find to his surprise that the scene had disappeared. Something or other was now covering up the knothole.
Paddington was not the sort of bear to be beaten by such trifles. After finding a suitable cane from among the pile in the raspberry patch, he bent down again and poked it through the hole as hard as he could in order to remove the offending object. A second later the cane fell from his paw like a red-hot poker as a yell of pain rang round the garden.
“Bear!” roared a familiar voice. “Is that you, bear? How dare you!”
Paddington scrambled to his feet and gazed mournfully
