“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,
