Several minutes went by, for Paddington was rather a slow reader, and there were a number of diagrams to examine.

      “I hope he’s not too long,” said Mr Brown. “I think I’ve got cramp coming on.”

      “He’ll be disappointed if you move,” said Mrs Brown. “He took such a lot of trouble arranging us all and it really looks very nice.”

      “That’s all very well,” grumbled Mr Brown. “You’re sitting down.”

      “Ssh!” replied Mrs Brown. “I think he’s almost ready now. He’s doing something with a piece of string.”

      “What on earth is that for?” asked Mr Brown.

      “It’s to measure you,” said Paddington, tying a loop in the end.

      “Well, if you don’t mind,” protested Mr Brown, when he saw what Paddington was up to, “I’d much rather you tied the other end on to the camera instead of this end to my ear!” The rest of his sentence disappeared in a gurgle as Paddington pulled the string tight.

      Paddington looked rather surprised and examined the knot round Mr Brown’s ear with interest. “I think I must have made a slip knot by mistake,” he announced eventually. Paddington wasn’t very good at knots – mainly because having paws made things difficult for him.

      “Really, Henry,” said Mrs Brown. “Don’t make such a fuss. Anyone would think you’d been hurt.”

      Mr Brown rubbed his ear, which had gone a funny mauve colour. “It’s my ear,” he said, “and it jolly well does hurt.”

      “Now where’s he going?” exclaimed Mrs Bird, as Paddington hurried off towards the house.

      “I expect he’s gone to measure the string,” said Jonathan.

      “Huh!” said Mr Brown. “Well, I’m going to stand up.”

      “Henry!” said Mrs Brown. “If you do I shall be very cross.”

      “It’s too late anyway,” groaned Mr Brown. “My leg’s gone to sleep.”

      Luckily for Mr Brown, Paddington arrived back at that moment. He stared hard at the sun and then at the waiting group. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come over here,” he said, after consulting his instruction book. “The sun’s moved.”

      “I’m not surprised,” grumbled Mr Brown, as he sat on the lawn rubbing his leg. “At the rate we’re going it will have set before we’re finished.”

      “I never realised having a picture taken could be so complicated,” said Mrs Bird.

      “What I’m not sure about,” whispered Judy, “is why Paddington bothered having a bath if he’s taking the photograph.”

      “That’s a point,” said Mr Brown. “How are you going to be in the picture, Paddington?”

      Paddington gave Mr Brown a strange look. That was something he hadn’t thought of either, but he decided to meet that difficulty when it came. He had a lot of other important things to do first. “I’m going to press the shutter,” he said, after a moment’s thought, “and then run round the other side.”

      “But even bears can’t run that fast,” persisted Mr Brown.

      “I’m sure Paddington knows best, Henry,” whispered Mrs Brown. “And even if he doesn’t, for goodness’ sake don’t say anything. If he finds out he’s had a bath for nothing we shall never hear the last of it.”

      “It seems a very long hood,” said Mrs Bird, looking towards the camera. “I can’t see Paddington at all.”

      “That’s because he’s small,” explained Jonathan. “He’s had to lower the tripod.”

      The Browns sat very still with a fixed smile on their faces as Paddington came out from beneath his hood. He made some complicated adjustments to the front of the camera and then, after announcing he was about to fit the photographic plate, disappeared again.

      Suddenly, to everybody’s surprise, the camera and tripod began to rock backwards and forwards in a most dangerous manner.

      “Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “Whatever’s happening now?”

      “Look out!” shouted Mr Brown. “It’s coming towards us.”

      They all stood up and moved away, staring with wide-open eyes at the camera as it followed them. But when it got to within several feet it suddenly stopped, then turned left and headed towards a rose bush.

      “I do hope he’s all right,” said Mrs Brown anxiously.

      “I wonder if we ought to do anything,” said Mrs Bird, as there was a muffled cry from Paddington.

      But before anyone could reply, the camera rebounded from the rose bush and shot back across the lawn. It went twice round the pond in the middle and then jumped up in the air several times before toppling over, to land with a dull thud in the middle of Mr Brown’s best flower bed.

      “Good heavens!” shouted Mr Brown, as he rushed forward. “My petunias!”

      “Never mind your petunias, Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “What about Paddington?”

      “Well, no wonder,” said Mr Brown as he bent down and lifted the hood. “He’s got his head stuck inside the camera!”

      “I should be careful, Dad,” said Jonathan as Mr Brown began pulling at Paddington’s legs. “His whiskers might be caught in the shutter.”

      Mr Brown stopped pulling and crawled round to peer through the lens. “I can’t see anything,” he said after a moment’s pause. “It’s all dark inside.” He tapped the case and there came another faint cry from within.

      “Butter!” said Mrs Bird, hurrying towards the kitchen. “There’s nothing like butter when anyone’s stuck.” Mrs Bird was a great believer in butter. She had used it several times in the past when Paddington had got himself stuck.

      All the same, even with Jonathan holding one end and Mr Brown pulling on the other, it was some while before Paddington’s head finally came away from the camera. He sat on the grass rubbing his ears and looking very crestfallen. Things hadn’t gone at all according to plan.

      “I vote,” said Mr Brown, when order had finally been restored, “that we set everything up exactly as it was before and tie a string to the shutter. Then Paddington can sit in the group with us and work it from a distance. It’ll be much safer that way.”

      Everyone agreed that this was a good idea, and while Mr Brown arranged the group once again, Paddington busied himself setting up his camera and fitting the photographic plate inside it – making sure to stand well back this time. There was a slight setback when he pulled the string too hard and the tripod fell over, but finally the big moment arrived. There was a click from the camera and everyone relaxed.

      The man in the photographic shop looked most surprised when Mrs Bird, all the Browns, and Paddington trooped in through the door a little later.

      “It’s certainly a very rare sort,” he said, examining Paddington’s camera with interest. “Very rare. I’ve read about them of course – but I’ve never actually seen one before. It… it must have been kept in a pantry or something. It seems to have

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