Paddington Helps Out - Michael Bond

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      “I like that!” said Mr Brown, giving his wife an expressive look.

      “It’s all right,” shouted Jonathan. “Someone’s thrown him a lifebelt!”

      By the time the Browns reached the landing stage Paddington had already been rescued and he was lying on his back surrounded by a large crowd. Everyone was staring down at him making suggestions while the man in charge of the boats pulled his paws back and forth, giving him artificial respiration.

      “Thank goodness he’s safe,” exclaimed Mrs Brown thankfully.

      “Don’t see why ’e shouldn’t be,” said the man. “If ’e’d layed ’isself down it’d only ’ve come up to ’is whiskers. The water’s only about nine inches deep just ’ere. Probably a lot less now – judging by the amount ’e’s swallowed. Kept ’is mouth open when ’e went under, I dare say.”

      Judy bent down and looked at Paddington. “I think he’s trying to say something,” she said.

      “Grrr,” said Paddington as he sat up.

      “Now just you lay still for a moment, young feller-me-bear,” said the boatman, pushing Paddington back down again.

      “Grrr,” said Paddington. “ITHINKI’VELOSTMYHAT.”

      “ITHINKI’VELOSTMYHAT,” repeated the man, looking at Paddington with renewed interest. “Are you one of them foreign bears? We get a rare lot of overseas visitors at this time of year,” he said, turning to the Browns.

      “I come from Peru,” spluttered Paddington, as he got his breath back. “But I live at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens in London, and I think I’ve lost my hat.”

      “Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown, clutching her husband’s arm. “Did you hear that, Henry? Paddington’s lost his hat!”

      The Brown family stared at each other in dismay. They often grumbled about Paddington’s hat – usually when he wasn’t listening – because it was so old. People had a habit of pointing at it when they were out and it made them feel embarrassed. But all the same, they couldn’t even begin to picture Paddington without it.

      “I had it on when I fell in the water,” cried Paddington, feeling on top of his head. “And now it isn’t there any more.”

      “Gosh,” said Jonathan. “It had so many holes in it too! Perhaps it’s sunk.”

      “Sunk!” cried Paddington in dismay. He ran to the edge of the landing stage and peered at the muddy water. “But it can’t have sunk!”

      “He’s always worn it,” explained Mrs Brown to the boatman. “Ever since we’ve known him. It was given to him by his uncle in Peru.”

      “Darkest Peru,” said Paddington.

      “Darkest Peru,” repeated the boatman, looking most impressed. He turned to Paddington and touched his forelock. “You’ll be wanting the Thames Conservancy, sir.”

      “No, I don’t,” said Paddington firmly. “I want my hat.”

      “He means they look after the river, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “They may have found it for you.”

      “It’s the current, sir,” explained the boatman. “Once you get away from the bank it’s very strong and it may have got swep’ over the weir.” He pointed along the river towards a row of buildings in the distance.

      “Got swep’ over the weir?” repeated Paddington slowly.

      The boatman nodded. “If it ain’t already been sucked into a whirlpool.”

      Paddington gave the man a hard stare. “My hat!” he exclaimed, hardly able to believe his ears. “Got sucked into a whirlpool?”

      “Come along,” said Mr Brown hastily. “If we hurry we may be just in time to see it go over.”

      Closely followed by Mr and Mrs Brown, Mrs Bird, Jonathan and Judy, the boatman and a crowd of interested sightseers, Paddington hurried along the towpath with a grim expression on his face, leaving a trail of water behind him.

      By the time they reached the weir the news had already spread and several men in peaked caps were peering anxiously into the water.

      “I hear you’ve lost a very valuable Persian cat,” said the lock-keeper to Mr Brown.

      “Not a cat,” said Mr Brown. “A hat. And it’s from Peru.”

      “It belongs to this young bear gentleman, Fred,” explained the boatman as he joined them. “It’s a family heirloom.”

      “A family heirloom?” repeated the lock-keeper, scratching his head as he looked at Paddington. “I’ve never heard of a hat being a family heirloom before. Especially a bear’s heirloom.”

      “Mine is,” said Paddington firmly. “It’s a very rare sort of hat and it’s got a marmalade sandwich inside. I put it in there in case of an emergency.”

      “A marmalade sandwich?” said the lock-keeper, looking more and more surprised. “Wait a minute – it wouldn’t be that thing we fished out just now would it? All sort of shapeless… like a… like a…” He tried hard to think of words to describe it.

      “That sounds like it,” said Mrs Bird.

      “Herbert!” called the man to a boy who was standing nearby watching the proceedings with an open mouth. “See if we’ve still got that wassname in the shed.

      “It might well be an heirloom,” he continued, turning to the Browns. “It looks as if it’s been handed down a lot.”

      Everyone waited anxiously while Herbert disappeared into a small hut by the side of the lock. He returned after a few moments carrying a bucket.

      “We put it in here,” said the lock-keeper apologetically, “because we’d never seen anything like it before. We were going to send it to the museum.”

      Paddington peered into the bucket. “That’s not a wassname,” he exclaimed thankfully. “That’s my hat.”

      Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” said Mrs Bird, echoing all their thoughts.

      “There’s a fish inside it as well,” said the lock-keeper.

      “What!” exclaimed Paddington. “A fish? Inside my hat?”

      “That’s right,” said the man. “It must have been after your marmalade sandwich. Probably got in through one of the holes.”

      “Crikey,” exclaimed Jonathan admiringly, as the Browns gathered round the bucket. “So there is!”

      “That means Paddington’s won the prize for catching the first fish,” said Judy. “Congratulations!”

      “Well, if it’s some kind of competition,” said the lock-keeper, “I’d better get you a jam-jar to put it in, sir.

      “I suppose,” he said, looking rather doubtfully at the hat, “you’ll be wanting to wear it again?”

      As Paddington gave him a hard stare he backed away and hurried off in search of a jam-jar. “There you are,” he said when he returned. “With the compliments of the Thames Conservancy.”

      “Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully, offering the man his paw.

      “Not at all,” said the man, as he stood on the side of the lock to wave them goodbye. “It’s a pleasure. After all, it’s

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