A. A. Milne Quotes

“People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.”

“Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon.”

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. ‘Pooh!’ he whispered. ‘Yes, Piglet?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw. ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.’”

“But it isn’t easy,” said Pooh. “Because Poetry and Hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you.”

“Always watch where you are going. Otherwise, you may step on a piece of the forest that was left out by mistake.”

“Hello, Rabbit,” he said, “Is that you?” “Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “And see what happens.”

“Owl,” said Rabbit shortly, “You and I have brains. The others have fluff. If there is any thinking to be done in this Forest—and when I say thinking, I mean thinking—you and I must do it.”

“Owl looked at him, and wondered whether to push him off the tree; but, feeling that he could always do it afterwards, he tried once more to find out what they were talking about.”

“My spelling is Wobbly. It’s good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.”

“But, of course, it isn’t really Good-bye, because the Forest will always be there…and anybody who is Friendly with Bears can find it.”

“I might have known,” said Eeyore. “After all, one can’t complain. I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And was it last week or the week before that Rabbit bumped into me and said ‘Bother!’. The Social Round. Always something going on.”

“Oh, Eeyore, you are wet!” said Piglet, feeling him. Eeyore shook himself, and asked somebody to explain to Piglet what happened when you had been inside a river for quite a long time.”

“It’s your fault, Eeyore. You’ve never been to see any of us. You just stay here in this one corner of the Forest waiting for the others to come to you. Why don’t you go to THEM sometimes?”

“The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.”

“They’re funny things, Accidents. You never have them till you’re having them.”

“Don’t blame me if it rains.”

“We can’t all, and some of us don’t.”

“It’s not much of a tail, but I’m sort of attached to it.”

“Wish I could say yes, but I can’t.”

“Sure is a cheerful color. Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

“Thanks for noticin’ me.”

“After all, what are birthdays? Here today and gone tomorrow.”

“No Give and Take. No Exchange of Thought. It gets you nowhere, particularly if the other person’s tail is only just in sight for the second half of the conversation.”

“Could you ask your friend to do his exercises somewhere else? I shall be having lunch directly, and don’t want it bounced on just before I begin. A trifling matter, and fussy of me, but we all have our little ways.”

“Hallo, Pooh. Thank you for asking, but I shall be able to use it again in a day or two.” “Use what?” said Pooh. “What we were talking about.” “I wasn’t talking about anything,” said Pooh, looking puzzled. “My mistake again. I thought you were saying how sorry you were about my tail, being all numb, and could you do anything to help?” “No,” said Pooh. “That wasn’t me,” he said. He thought for a little and then suggested helpfully: “Perhaps it was somebody else.” “Well, thank him for me when you see him.”

“I thought,” said Piglet earnestly, “that if Eeyore stood at the bottom of the tree, and if Pooh stood on Eeyore’s back, and if I stood on Pooh’s shoulders -” “And if Eeyore’s back snapped suddenly, then we could all laugh. Ha Ha! Amusing in a quiet way,” said Eeyore, “but not really helpful.” “Well,” said Piglet meekly, “I thought -” “Would it break your back, Eeyore?” asked Pooh, very much surprised. “That’s what would be so interesting, Pooh. Not being quite sure till afterwards.”

“A tail isn’t a tail to them, it’s just a little bit extra at the back.”

“A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference.”

“If it is a good morning, which I doubt.”

“When stuck in the river, it is best to dive and swim to the bank yourself before someone drops a large stone on your chest in an attempt to hoosh you there.”

“You don’t always want to be miserable on my birthday, do you?”

“You seem so sad, Eeyore.” “Sad? Why should I be sad? It’s my birthday. The happiest day of the year.”

“And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear.”

“What a long time whoever lives here is answering this door.” And he knocked again. “But Pooh,” said Piglet, “it’s your own house!” “Oh!” Said Pooh. “So it is,” he said. “Well, let’s go in.”

″‘Then there’s only one thing to be done,’ he said. ‘We shall have to wait for you to get thin again.’ ‘How long does getting thin take?’ asked Pooh anxiously. ‘About a week, I should think.’ ‘But I can’t stay here for a week!’ ‘You can stay here all right, silly old Bear. It’s getting you out which is so difficult.‘”

″‘You’re the Best Bear in All the World,’ said Christopher Robin soothingly.

“Silly old Bear,” he said.

“What about a story?” said Christopher Robin.

“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn’t. Anyhow here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, ‘But I thought he was a boy?’ ‘So did I,’ said Christopher Robin. ‘Then you can’t call him Winnie?’ ‘I don’t.’ ‘But you said—” ‘He’s Winnie-the-Pooh. Don’t you know what ‘ther’ means?‘”

“Shall I go off to South America? Shall I put out in my ship to sea? Or get in my cage and be lions and tigers? Or- shall I be only Me?”

“Where am I going? I don’t quite know. What does it matter where people go? Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow- Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.”

“She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: ‘Winter is dead.‘”

“What shall I call, My dear little dormouse? His eyes are small, But his tail is e-nor-mouse.”

“And that is the reason (Aunt Emily said), If a Dormouse gets in a chrysanthemum bed, You will find (so Aunt Emily says) that he lies, Fast asleep on his front with his paws to his eyes.”

“Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day. And what was the other I had to say? I said “Bless Daddy,” so what can it be? Oh! Now I remember. God bless Me.”

“If you were a cloud, and sailed up there, You’d sail on the water as blue as air. And you’d see me here in the fields and say: “Doesn’t the sky look green today?”

“When we got home, we had sand in the hair, In the eyes and the ears and everywhere; Whenever a good nor’ wester blows, Christopher is found with Sand-between-the-toes.”

“If you were a bird, and lived on high, You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by, You’d say to the wind when it took you away: ‘That’s where I wanted to go today!‘”

“And I’d say to myself as I looked so lazily down at the sea: ‘There’s nobody else in the world, and the world was made for me.‘”

“I make a point of being polite at breakfast,” said Bill, helping himself largely to porridge.

“Quite right, Major; it’s only manners.”

“I do remember,” he said, “only Pooh doesn’t very well, so that’s why he likes having it told to him again. Because then it’s a real story and not just a remembering.”

“I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget.”

“If I know anything about anything, that hole means Rabbit,” he said, “and Rabbit means Company,” he said, “and Company means Food and Listening-to-Me-Humming and such like.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure. You know how it is in the Forest. One can’t have anybody coming into one’s house. One has to be careful. What about a mouthful of something?”

“I have been Foolish and Deluded,” said he, “and I am a Bear of No Brain at All.”

“You’re the Best Bear in All the World,” said Christopher Robin soothingly. “Am I?” said Pooh hopefully. And then he brightened up suddenly.

“And how are you?” said Winnie-the-Pooh. Eeyore shook his head from side to side. “Not very how,” he said. “I don’t seem to have felt at all how for a long time.”

“Thank you, Pooh,” answered Eeyore. “You’re a real friend,” said he. “Not like Some,” he said.

“For I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, and long words Bother me.”

“Good morning, Pooh Bear,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it is a good morning,” he said. “Which I doubt,” said he.

“Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, A fly can’t bird, but a bird can fly. Ask me a riddle and I reply: “Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.”

“Here—we—are,” said Rabbit very slowly and carefully, “all—of—us, and then, suddenly, we wake up one morning and, what do we find? We find a Strange Animal among us. An animal of whom we have never even heard before! An animal who carries her family about with her in her pocket! Suppose I carried my family about with me in my pocket, how many pockets should I want?”

“Pooh,” said Rabbit kindly, “you haven’t any brain.” “I know,” said Pooh humbly.

“It is hard to be brave,” said Piglet, sniffing slightly, “when you’re only a Very Small Animal.”

“It is because you are a very small animal that you will be Useful in the adventure before us.”

“If they are having a joke with me, I will have a joke with them.”

“We’re going. Only Don’t Blame Me.”

“Pooh hasn’t much Brain, but he never comes to any harm. He does silly things and they turn out right.”

Owl hasn’t exactly got Brain, but he Knows Things.

There’s Rabbit. He hasn’t Learnt in Books, but he can always Think of a Clever Plan.

She isn’t Clever, Kanga isn’t, but she would be so anxious about Roo that she would do a Good Thing to Do without thinking about It.

And then there’s Eeyore. And Eeyore is so miserable anyhow that he wouldn’t mind about this.

“I wish Pooh were here. It’s so much more friendly with two.”

“The atmospheric conditions have been very unfavourable lately,” said Owl.

“This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.”

“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?” “What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?” “I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting to-day?” said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.

Nobody seemed to know where they came from, but there they were in the Forest: Kanga and Baby Roo. When Pooh asked Christopher Robin, “How did they come here?” Christopher Robin said, “In the Usual Way, if you know what I mean, Pooh,” and Pooh, who didn’t, said “Oh!” Then he nodded his head twice and said, “In the Usual Way. Ah!”

“Now don’t talk while I think.”

Kanga never takes her eye off Baby Roo, except when he’s safely buttoned up in her pocket.

Just for a moment, she thought she was frightened, and then she knew she wasn’t; for she felt quite sure that Christopher Robin would never let any harm happen to Roo.

If you go on making faces like Piglet’s, you will grow up to look like Piglet—and then think how sorry you will be.

Roo was washing his face and paws in the stream, while Kanga explained to everybody proudly that this was the first time he had ever washed his face himself, and Owl was telling Kanga an Interesting Anecdote full of long words like Encyclopædia and Rhododendron to which Kanga wasn’t listening.

Everybody was doing something to help. Piglet, wide awake suddenly, was jumping up and down and making “Oo, I say” noises; Owl was explaining that in a case of Sudden and Temporary Immersion the Important Thing was to keep the Head Above Water; Kanga was jumping along the bank, saying “Are you sure you’re all right, Roo dear?” to which Roo, from whatever pool he was in at the moment, was answering “Look at me swimming!”

“It’s a Missage,” he said to himself, “that’s what it is. And that letter is a ‘P,’ and so is that, and so is that, and ‘P’ means ‘Pooh,’ so it’s a very important Missage to me, and I can’t read it. I must find Christopher Robin or Owl or Piglet, one of those Clever Readers who can read things, and they will tell me what this missage means. Only I can’t swim. Bother!”

“The flood-level has reached an unprecedented height.” “The who?” “There’s a lot of water about,” explained Owl.

In after-years he liked to think that he had been in Very Great Danger during the Terrible Flood, but the only danger he had really been in was in the last half-hour of his imprisonment, when Owl, who had just flown up, sat on a branch of his tree to comfort him, and told him a very long story about an aunt who had once laid a seagull’s egg by mistake, and the story went on and on, rather like this sentence, until Piglet who was listening out of his window without much hope, went to sleep quietly and naturally, slipping slowly out of the window towards the water until he was only hanging on by his toes, at which moment luckily, a sudden loud squawk from Owl, which was really part of the story, being what his aunt said, woke the Piglet up and just gave him time to jerk himself back into safety and say, “How interesting, and did she?” when—well, you can imagine his joy when at last he saw the good ship, Brain of Pooh (Captain, C. Robin; 1st Mate, P. Bear) coming over the sea to rescue him.

Owl tried to think of something very wise to say, but couldn’t, so he flew off to tell the others.

“What I did was nothing. Any of you—except Rabbit and Owl and Kanga—would have done the same. Oh, and Pooh. My remarks do not, of course, apply to Piglet and Roo, because they are too small. Any of you would have done the same.”

Owl lived at The Chestnuts, an old-world residence of great charm, which was grander than anybody else’s, or seemed so to Bear, because it had both a knocker and a bell-pull.

These notices had been written by Christopher Robin, who was the only one in the forest who could spell; for Owl, wise though he was in many ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTEREDTOAST.

Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o’clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, “Honey or condensed milk with your bread?” he was so excited that he said, “Both,” and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, “But don’t bother about the bread, please.”

Pooh Bear stretched out a paw, and Rabbit pulled and pulled and pulled.... “Ow!” cried Pooh. “You’re hurting!” “The fact is,” said Rabbit, “you’re stuck.” “It all comes,” said Pooh crossly, “of not having front doors big enough.” “It all comes,” said Rabbit sternly, “of eating too much. I thought at the time,” said Rabbit, “only I didn’t like to say anything,” said Rabbit, “that one of us was eating too much,” said Rabbit, “and I knew it wasn’t me,” he said.

So Kanga and Roo stayed in the Forest. And every Tuesday Roo spent the day with his great friend Rabbit, and every Tuesday Kanga spent the day with her great friend Pooh, teaching him to jump, and every Tuesday Piglet spent the day with his great friend Christopher Robin. So they were all happy again.

“Hallo, Rabbit,” he said, “is that you?” “Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “and see what happens.”

First came Christopher Robin and Rabbit, then Piglet and Pooh; then Kanga, with Roo in her pocket, and Owl; then Eeyore; and, at the end, in a long line, all Rabbit’s friends-and-relations. “I didn’t ask them,” explained Rabbit carelessly. “They just came. They always do. They can march at the end, after Eeyore.”

“It’s—I wondered—It’s only—Rabbit, I suppose you don’t know, What does the North Pole look like?” “Well,” said Rabbit, stroking his whiskers. “Now you’re asking me.” “I did know once, only I’ve sort of forgotten,” said Christopher Robin carelessly. “It’s a funny thing,” said Rabbit, “but I’ve sort of forgotten too, although I did know once.” “I suppose it’s just a pole stuck in the ground?” “Sure to be a pole,” said Rabbit, “because of calling it a pole, and if it’s a pole, well, I should think it would be sticking in the ground, shouldn’t you, because there’d be nowhere else to stick it.”

The Piglet lived in a very grand house in the middle of a beech-tree, and the beech-tree was in the middle of the forest, and the Piglet lived in the middle of the house. Next to his house was a piece of broken board which had: “TRESPASSERS W” on it. When Christopher Robin asked the Piglet what it meant, he said it was his grandfather’s name, and had been in the family for a long time, Christopher Robin said you couldn’t be called Trespassers W, and Piglet said yes, you could, because his grandfather was, and it was short for Trespassers Will, which was short for Trespassers William. And his grandfather had had two names in case he lost one—Trespassers after an uncle, and William after Trespassers.

Suddenly Winnie-the-Pooh stopped, and pointed excitedly in front of him. “Look!” “What?” said Piglet, with a jump. And then, to show that he hadn’t been frightened, he jumped up and down once or twice more in an exercising sort of way.

At first as they stumped along the path which edged the Hundred Acre Wood, they didn’t say much to each other; but when they came to the stream and had helped each other across the stepping stones, and were able to walk side by side again over the heather, they began to talk in a friendly way about this and that, and Piglet said, “If you see what I mean, Pooh,” and Pooh said, “It’s just what I think myself, Piglet,” and Piglet said, “But, on the other hand, Pooh, we must remember,” and Pooh said, “Quite true, Piglet, although I had forgotten it for the moment.”

“Piglet,” said Rabbit, taking out a pencil, and licking the end of it, “you haven’t any pluck.”

“What about me?” said Pooh sadly. “I suppose I shan’t be useful?” “Never mind, Pooh,” said Piglet comfortingly. “Another time perhaps.” “Without Pooh,” said Rabbit solemnly as he sharpened his pencil, “the adventure would be impossible.” “Oh!” said Piglet, and tried not to look disappointed.

The Piglet was sitting on the ground at the door of his house blowing happily at a dandelion, and wondering whether it would be this year, next year, sometime or never. He had just discovered that it would be never, and was trying to remember what “it” was, and hoping it wasn’t anything nice, when Pooh came up.

They had come to a stream which twisted and tumbled between high rocky banks, and Christopher Robin saw at once how dangerous it was. “It’s just the place,” he explained, “for an Ambush.” “What sort of bush?” whispered Pooh to Piglet. “A gorse-bush?” “My dear Pooh,” said Owl in his superior way, “don’t you know what an Ambush is?” “Owl,” said Piglet, looking round at him severely, “Pooh’s whisper was a perfectly private whisper, and there was no need——” “An Ambush,” said Owl, “is a sort of Surprise.” “So is a gorse-bush sometimes,” said Pooh. “An Ambush, as I was about to explain to Pooh,” said Piglet, “is a sort of Surprise.” “If people jump out at you suddenly, that’s an Ambush,” said Owl. “It’s an Ambush, Pooh, when people jump at you suddenly,” explained Piglet. Pooh, who now knew what an Ambush was, said that a gorse-bush had sprung at him suddenly one day when he fell off a tree, and he had taken six days to get all the prickles out of himself. “We are not talking about gorse-bushes,” said Owl a little crossly. “I am,” said Pooh.

It rained and it rained and it rained. Piglet told himself that never in all his life, and he was goodness knows how old—three, was it, or four?—never had he seen so much rain. Days and days and days. “If only,” he thought, as he looked out of the window, “I had been in Pooh’s house, or Christopher Robin’s house, or Rabbit’s house when it began to rain, then I should have had Company all this time, instead of being here all alone, with nothing to do except wonder when it will stop.” And he imagined himself with Pooh, saying, “Did you ever see such rain, Pooh?” and Pooh saying, “Isn’t it awful, Piglet?” and Piglet saying, “I wonder how it is over Christopher Robin’s way” and Pooh saying, “I should think poor old Rabbit is about flooded out by this time.” It would have been jolly to talk like this, and really, it wasn’t much good having anything exciting like floods, if you couldn’t share them with somebody.

“You mean Piglet. The little fellow with the excited ears. That’s Piglet.”

Later on, when they had all said “Good-bye” and “Thank-you” to Christopher Robin, Pooh and Piglet walked home thoughtfully together in the golden evening, and for a long time they were silent.

“What sort of stories does he like?” “About himself. Because he’s that sort of Bear.”

“That buzzing- noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.”

Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.”

“Oh, Bear!” said Christopher Robin. “How I do love you!” “So do I,” said Pooh.

Well, he washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of his pencil, and wondered how to spell “birthday.” “Can you read, Pooh?” he asked a little anxiously. “There’s a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?” “Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could.” “Well, I’ll tell you what this says, and then you’ll be able to.” So Owl wrote ... and this is what he wrote: HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY. Pooh looked on admiringly. “I’m just saying ‘A Happy Birthday’,” said Owl carelessly. “It’s a nice long one,” said Pooh, very much impressed by it. “Well, actually, of course, I’m saying ‘A Very Happy Birthday with love from Pooh.’ Naturally it takes a good deal of pencil to say a long thing like that.” “Oh, I see,” said Pooh.

“It wasn’t what Christopher Robin expected, and the more he looked at it, the more he thought what a Brave and Clever Bear Pooh was, and the more Christopher Robin thought this, the more Pooh looked modestly down his nose and tried to pretend he wasn’t.”

“Do go and see, Owl. Because Pooh hasn’t got very much brain, and he might do something silly, and I do love him so, Owl. Do you see, Owl?”

And then this Bear, Pooh Bear, Winnie-the-Pooh, F.O. P. (Friend of Piglet’s), R.C. (Rabbit’s Companion), P.D. (Pole Discoverer), E.C. and T.F. (Eeyore’s Comforter and Tail-finder)—in fact, Pooh himself—said something so clever that Christopher Robin could only look at him with mouth open and eyes staring, wondering if this was really the Bear of Very Little Brain whom he had known and loved so long.

“Oh, help and bother!”

“I say, old fellow, you’re taking up a good deal of room in my house—do you mind if I use your back legs as a towel-horse? Because, I mean, there they are—doing nothing—and it would be very convenient just to hang the towels on them.”

So, with a nod of thanks to his friends, he went on with his walk through the forest, humming proudly to himself. But, Christopher Robin looked after him lovingly, and said to himself, “Silly old Bear!”

Of course Pooh would be with him, and it was much more Friendly with two.

“A party for Me?” thought Pooh to himself. “How grand!” And he began to wonder if all the other animals would know that it was a special Pooh Party, and if Christopher Robin had told them about The Floating Bear and the Brain of Pooh and all the wonderful ships he had invented and sailed on, and he began to think how awful it would be if everybody had forgotten about it, and nobody quite knew what the party was for; and the more he thought like this, the more the party got muddled in his mind, like a dream when nothing goes right. And the dream began to sing itself over in his head until it became a sort of song.

“After all, one can’t complain. I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And was it last week or the week before that Rabbit bumped into me and said ‘Bother!’ The Social Round. Always something going on.”

Pooh felt that he ought to say something helpful about it, but didn’t quite know what. So he decided to do something helpful instead.

Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily, wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being somebody else, when suddenly he came to a sandy bank, and in the bank was a large hole.

The Old Grey Donkey, Eeyore, stood by himself in a thistly corner of the forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?“—and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about.

Then Piglet saw what a Foolish Piglet he had been, and he was so ashamed of himself that he ran straight off home and went to bed with a headache.

“Many happy returns of the day,” called out Pooh, forgetting that he had said it already. “Thank you, Pooh, I’m having them,” said Eeyore gloomily.

Christopher Robin was sitting outside his door, putting on his Big Boots. As soon as he saw the Big Boots, Pooh knew that an Adventure was going to happen, and he brushed the honey off his nose with the back of his paw, and spruced himself up as well as he could, so as to look Ready for Anything.

“We’re going to discover the North Pole.” “Oh!” said Pooh again. “What is the North Pole?” he asked. “It’s just a thing you discover,” said Christopher Robin carelessly, not being quite sure himself.

Then he had an idea, and I think that for a Bear of Very Little Brain, it was a good idea.

One day when the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it the scent of may, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling happily to find themselves their own pretty shape again, and the little pools lay dreaming of the life they had seen and the big things they had done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy comfortable way that it was the other fellow’s fault, but it didn’t matter very much; on such a day as this Christopher Robin whistled in a special way he had, and Owl came flying out of the Hundred Acre Wood to see what was wanted.

It was a fine spring morning in the forest as he started out. Little soft clouds played happily in a blue sky, skipping from time to time in front of the sun as if they had come to put it out, and then sliding away suddenly so that the next might have his turn. Through them and between them the sun shone bravely; and a copse which had worn its firs all the year round seemed old and dowdy now beside the new green lace which the beeches had put on so prettily.

“Eeyore,” said Owl, “Christopher Robin is giving a party.” “Very interesting,” said Eeyore. “I suppose they will be sending me down the odd bits which got trodden on. Kind and Thoughtful. Not at all, don’t mention it.”

“When you go after honey with a balloon, the great thing is not to let the bees know you’re coming.

“You never can tell with bees.”

“But is it really your birthday?” he asked. “It is.” “Oh! Well, Many happy returns of the day, Eeyore.” “And many happy returns to you, Pooh Bear.” “But it isn’t my birthday.” “No, it’s mine.” “But you said ‘Many happy returns’——” “Well, why not? You don’t always want to be miserable on my birthday, do you?” “Oh, I see,” said Pooh.

The Sun was still in bed, but there was a lightness in the sky over the Hundred Acre Wood which seemed to show that it was waking up and would soon be kicking off the clothes.

“I’ll try,” I said. So I tried.

“I think the bees suspect something!”

“For Pooh?” said Eeyore. “Of course it is. The best bear in all the world.”

“That Accounts for a Good Deal,” said Eeyore gloomily. “It Explains Everything. No Wonder.”

Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and looked at himself in the water. “Pathetic,” he said. “That’s what it is. Pathetic.” He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at himself in the water again. “As I thought,” he said. “No better from this side. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that’s what it is.”

“Have you all got something?” asked Christopher Robin with his mouth full. “All except me,” said Eeyore. “As Usual.” He looked round at them in his melancholy way. “I suppose none of you are sitting on a thistle by any chance?” “I believe I am,” said Pooh. “Ow!” He got up, and looked behind him. “Yes, I was. I thought so.” “Thank you, Pooh. If you’ve quite finished with it.” He moved across to Pooh’s place, and began to eat.

“My tail’s getting cold. I don’t want to mention it, but I just mention it. I don’t want to complain but there it is. My tail’s cold.”

“Hullo, Pooh. Thank you for asking, but I shall be able to use it again in a day or two.” “Use what?” said Pooh. “What we are talking about.” “I wasn’t talking about anything,” said Pooh, looking puzzled. “My mistake again. I thought you were saying how sorry you were about my tail, being all numb, and could you do anything to help?” “No,” said Pooh. “That wasn’t me,” he said. He thought for a little and then suggested helpfully, “Perhaps it was somebody else.” “Well, thank him for me when you see him.”

Piglet was so excited at the idea of being Useful, that he forgot to be frightened any more, and when Rabbit went on to say that Kangas were only Fierce during the winter months, being at other times of an Affectionate Disposition, he could hardly sit still, he was so eager to begin being useful at once.

“The thing to do is as follows. First, Issue a Reward. Then——” “Just a moment,” said Pooh, holding up his paw. “What do we do to this—what you were saying? You sneezed just as you were going to tell me.” “I didn’t sneeze.” “Yes, you did, Owl.” “Excuse me, Pooh, I didn’t. You can’t sneeze without knowing it.” “Well, you can’t know it without something having been sneezed.” “What I said was, ‘First Issue a Reward’.” “You’re doing it again,” said Pooh sadly.

“Was that me?” said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring to believe it. “That was you.” Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and his face got pinker and pinker.

He sat down and thought, in the most thoughtful way he could think.

It was a warm day, and he had a long way to go. He hadn’t gone more than half-way when a sort of funny feeling began to creep all over him. It began at the tip of his nose and trickled all through him and out at the soles of his feet. It was just as if somebody inside him were saying, “Now then, Pooh, time for a little something.”

“It’s an Expedition. That’s what an Expedition means. A long line of everybody. You’d better tell the others to get ready, while I see if my gun’s all right. And we must all bring Provisions.”

“Thank you, Piglet,” said Pooh. “What you have just said will be a Great Help to us, and because of it I could call this place Poohanpiglet Corner if Pooh Corner didn’t sound better, which it does, being smaller and more like a corner. Come along.”

So after breakfast they went round to see Piglet, and Pooh explained as they went that Piglet was a Very Small Animal who didn’t like bouncing, and asked Tigger not to be too Bouncy just at first. And Tigger, who had been hiding behind trees and jumping out on Pooh’s shadow when it wasn’t looking, said that Tiggers were only bouncy before breakfast, and that as soon as they had had a few haycorns they became Quiet and Refined.

“Hallo, Piglet. This is Tigger.” “Oh, is it?” said Piglet, and he edged round to the other side of the table. “I thought Tiggers were smaller than that.” “Not the big ones,” said Tigger.

“I’m Pooh,” said Pooh. “I’m Tigger,” said Tigger. “Oh!” said Pooh, for he had never seen an animal like this before. “Does Christopher Robin know about you?” “Of course he does,” said Tigger.

“Well, it’s the middle of the night, which is a good time for going to sleep.”

“Do Tiggers like honey?” “They like everything,” said Tigger cheerfully. “Then if they like going to sleep on the floor, I’ll go back to bed,” said Pooh, “and we’ll do things in the morning. Good night.”

Tigger said: “Excuse me a moment, but there’s something climbing up your table,” and with one loud Worraworraworraworraworra he jumped at the end of the tablecloth, pulled it to the ground, wrapped himself up in it three times, rolled to the other end of the room, and, after a terrible struggle, got his head into the daylight again, and said cheerfully: “Have I won?”

And as soon as they sat down, Tigger took a large mouthful of honey ... and he looked up at the ceiling with his head on one side, and made exploring noises with his tongue and considering noises, and what-have-we-got-here noises ... and then he said in a very decided voice: “Tiggers don’t like honey.”

“That’s my tablecloth,” said Pooh, as he began to unwind Tigger. “I wondered what it was,” said Tigger. “It goes on the table and you put things on it.” “Then why did it try to bite me when I wasn’t looking?” “I don’t think it did,” said Pooh. “It tried,” said Tigger, “but I was too quick for it.”

When he awoke in the morning, the first thing he saw was Tigger, sitting in front of the glass and looking at himself. “Hallo!” said Pooh. “Hallo!” said Tigger. “I’ve found somebody just like me. I thought I was the only one of them.”

“Tiggers don’t like haycorns.” “But you said they liked everything except honey,” said Pooh. “Everything except honey and haycorns,” explained Tigger.

“Hallo, Eeyore!” said Pooh. “This is Tigger.” “What is?” said Eeyore. “This,” explained Pooh and Piglet together, and Tigger smiled his happiest smile and said nothing.

Eeyore walked all round Tigger one way, and then turned and walked all round him the other way. “What did you say it was?” he asked. “Tigger.” “Ah!” said Eeyore. “He’s just come,” explained Piglet. “Ah!” said Eeyore again. He thought for a long time and then said: “When is he going?”

“And that’s the whole poem,” he said. “Do you like it, Piglet?” “All except the shillings,” said Piglet. “I don’t think they ought to be there.” “They wanted to come in after the pounds,” explained Pooh, “so I let them. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come.”

“Well, look in my cupboard, Tigger dear, and see what you’d like.” Because she knew at once that, however big Tigger seemed to be, he wanted as much kindness as Roo. “Shall I look, too?” said Pooh, who was beginning to feel a little eleven o’clockish.

Then Tigger looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes, and his tongue went round and round his chops, in case he had left any outside, and a peaceful smile came over his face as he said, “So that’s what Tiggers like!” Which explains why he always lived at Kanga’s house afterwards, and had Extract of Malt for breakfast, dinner, and tea.

“Hallo, Rabbit. Fourteen, wasn’t it?” “What was?” “My pots of honey what I was counting.” “Fourteen, that’s right.” “Are you sure?” “No,” said Rabbit.

“Who is Small?” “One of my friends-and-relations,” said Rabbit carelessly. This didn’t help Pooh much, because Rabbit had so many friends-and-relations, and of such different sorts and sizes, that he didn’t know whether he ought to be looking for Small at the top of an oak-tree or in the petal of a buttercup.

“I haven’t seen anybody today,” said Pooh, “not so as to say ‘Hallo, Small,’ to. Did you want him for anything?” “I don’t want him,” said Rabbit. “But it’s always useful to know where a friend-and-relation is, whether you want him or whether you don’t.”

“Because I know I’m not getting fatter, but his front door may be getting thinner.”

Now it happened that Kanga had felt rather motherly that morning, and Wanting to Count Things—like Roo’s vests, and how many pieces of soap there were left, and the two clean spots in Tigger’s feeder; so she had sent them out with a packet of watercress sandwiches for Roo and a packet of extract-of-malt sandwiches for Tigger, to have a nice long morning in the Forest not getting into mischief.

“Hallo, Pooh,” said Rabbit. “Hallo, Rabbit,” said Pooh dreamily. “Did you make that song up?” “Well, I sort of made it up,” said Pooh. “It isn’t Brain,” he went on humbly, “because You Know Why, Rabbit; but it comes to me sometimes.” “Ah!” said Rabbit, who never let things come to him, but always went and fetched them.

“Do you see, Pooh? Do you see, Piglet? Brains first and then Hard Work. Look at it! That’s the way to build a house,” said Eeyore proudly.

“Don’t you know what Tiggers like?” asked Pooh. “I expect if I thought very hard I should,” said Christopher Robin, “but I thought Tigger knew.” “I do,” said Tigger. “Everything there is in the world except honey and haycorns and—what were those hot things called?” “Thistles.” “Yes, and those.”

“Is he lost?” “Well,” said Rabbit, “nobody has seen him for a long time, so I suppose he is.”

“Which makes it look like a bothering sort of day,” thought Pooh, as he stumped along.

The next moment the day became very bothering indeed, because Pooh was so busy not looking where he was going that he stepped on a piece of the Forest which had been left out by mistake; and he only just had time to think to himself: “I’m flying. What Owl does. I wonder how you stop——” when he stopped.

“Did I fall on you, Piglet?” “You fell on me,” said Piglet, feeling himself all over. “I didn’t mean to,” said Pooh sorrowfully. “I didn’t mean to be underneath,” said Piglet sadly.

Pooh knew what he meant, but, being a Bear of Very Little Brain, couldn’t think of the words.

“I expect he’s just gone home,” said Christopher Robin to Rabbit. “Did he say Good-bye-and-thank-you-for-a-nice-time?” said Rabbit. “He’d only just said how-do-you-do,” said Christopher Robin. “Ha!” said Rabbit. After thinking a little, he went on: “Has he written a letter saying how much he enjoyed himself, and how sorry he was he had to go so suddenly?” Christopher Robin didn’t think he had. “Ha!” said Rabbit again, and looked very important. “This is Serious. He is Lost. We must begin the Search at once.”

And he felt so Foolish and Uncomfortable that he had almost decided to run away to Sea and be a Sailor, when suddenly he saw something.

“Hallo, Eeyore,” he said, “what are you looking for?” “Small, of course,” said Eeyore. “Haven’t you any brain?” “Oh, but didn’t I tell you?” said Rabbit. “Small was found two days ago.” There was a moment’s silence. “Ha-ha,” said Eeyore bitterly. “Merriment and what-not. Don’t apologize. It’s just what would happen.”

“I like talking to Rabbit. He talks about sensible things. He doesn’t use long, difficult words, like Owl. He uses short, easy words, like ‘What about lunch?’ and ‘Help yourself, Pooh.’ I suppose really, I ought to go and see Rabbit.”

“I’m planting a haycorn, Pooh, so that it can grow up into an oak-tree, and have lots of haycorns just outside the front door instead of having to walk miles and miles, do you see, Pooh?” “Supposing it doesn’t?” said Pooh. “It will, because Christopher Robin says it will, so that’s why I’m planting it.” “Well,” said Pooh, “if I plant a honeycomb outside my house, then it will grow up into a beehive.” Piglet wasn’t quite sure about this.

Piglet took Pooh’s arm, in case Pooh was frightened.

“Hallo, Eeyore,” said Christopher Robin, as he opened the door and came out. “How are you?” “It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore gloomily. “So it is.” “And freezing.” “Is it?” “Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening up a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.”

“A little patch I was keeping for my birthday,” he said; “but, after all, what are birthdays? Here today and gone tomorrow. Help yourself, Tigger.”

“I don’t know how it is, Christopher Robin, but what with all this snow and one thing and another, not to mention icicles and such-like, it isn’t so Hot in my field about three o’clock in the morning as some people think it is. It isn’t Close, if you know what I mean—not so as to be uncomfortable. It isn’t Stuffy. In fact, Christopher Robin,” he went on in a loud whisper, “quite-between-ourselves-and-don’t-tell-anybody, it’s Cold.”

They haven’t got Brains, any of them, only grey fluff that’s blown into their heads by mistake, and they don’t Think, but if it goes on snowing for another six weeks or so, one of them will begin to say to himself: ‘Eeyore can’t be so very much too Hot about three o’clock in the morning.’

“There!” said Eeyore. “Not a stick of it left! Of course, I’ve still got all this snow to do what I like with. One mustn’t complain.”

“Hallo, Eeyore.” “Same to you, Pooh Bear, and twice on Thursdays,” said Eeyore gloomily.

“Could you ask your friend to do his exercises somewhere else? I shall be having lunch directly, and don’t want it bounced on just before I begin. A trifling matter, and fussy of me, but we all have our little ways.”

“Oh, there you are, Tigger!” said Christopher Robin. “I knew you’d be somewhere.” “I’ve been finding things in the Forest,” said Tigger importantly. “I’ve found a pooh and a piglet and an eeyore, but I can’t find any breakfast.”

He hurried back to his own house; and his mind was so busy on the way with the hum that he was getting ready for Eeyore that, when he suddenly saw Piglet sitting in his best arm-chair, he could only stand there rubbing his head and wondering whose house he was in. “Hallo, Piglet,” he said. “I thought you were out.” “No,” said Piglet, “it’s you who were out, Pooh.” “So it was,” said Pooh. “I knew one of us was.”

Pooh explained to Eeyore that Tigger was a great friend of Christopher Robin’s, who had come to stay in the Forest, and Piglet explained to Tigger that he mustn’t mind what Eeyore said because he was always gloomy; and Eeyore explained to Piglet that, on the contrary, he was feeling particularly cheerful this morning; and Tigger explained to anybody who was listening that he hadn’t had any breakfast yet.

Bump! “Ow!” squeaked something. “That’s funny,” thought Pooh. “I said ‘Ow!’ without really oo’ing.” “Help!” said a small, high voice. “That’s me again,” thought Pooh. “I’ve had an Accident, and fallen down a well, and my voice has gone all squeaky and works before I’m ready for it, because I’ve done something to myself inside. Bother!”

Small’s real name was Very Small Beetle, but he was called Small for short, when he was spoken to at all, which hardly ever happened except when somebody said: “Really, Small!”

“Now,” said Rabbit, “this is a Search, and I’ve Organized it——” “Done what to it?” said Pooh. “Organized it. Which means—well, it’s what you do to a Search, when you don’t all look in the same place at once.”

As soon as Rabbit was out of sight, Pooh remembered that he had forgotten to ask who Small was, and whether he was the sort of friend-and-relation who settled on one’s nose, or the sort who got trodden on by mistake, and as it was Too Late Now, he thought he would begin the Hunt by looking for Piglet, and asking him what they were looking for before he looked for it.

I shall have to go a fast Thinking Walk by myself. Bother!

The wind had dropped, and the snow, tired of rushing round in circles trying to catch itself up, now fluttered gently down until it found a place on which to rest, and sometimes the place was Pooh’s nose and sometimes it wasn’t, and in a little while Piglet was wearing a white muffler round his neck and feeling more snowy behind the ears than he had ever felt before.

So he sang it again. The more it SNOWS-tiddely-pom, The more it GOES-tiddely-pom The more it GOES-tiddely-pom On Snowing. And nobody KNOWS-tiddely-pom, How cold my TOES-tiddely-pom How cold my TOES-tiddely-pom Are Growing. He sang it like that, which is much the best way of singing it, and when he had finished, he waited for Piglet to say that, of all the Outdoor Hums for Snowy Weather he had ever heard, this was the best. And, after thinking the matter out carefully, Piglet said: “Pooh,” he said solemnly, “it isn’t the toes so much as the ears.”

“Nearly eleven o’clock,” said Pooh happily. “You’re just in time for a little smackerel of something,” and he put his head into the cupboard.

“And I know it seems easy,” said Piglet to himself, “but it isn’t every one who could do it.”

So they left him in it; and Christopher Robin went back to lunch with his friends Pooh and Piglet, and on the way they told him of the Awful Mistake they had made. And when he had finished laughing, they all sang the Outdoor Song for Snowy Weather the rest of the way home, Piglet, who was still not quite sure of his voice, putting in the tiddely-poms again.

What shall we do about poor little Tigger? If he never eats nothing he’ll never get bigger. He doesn’t like honey and haycorns and thistles Because of the taste and because of the bristles. And all the good things which an animal likes Have the wrong sort of swallow or too many spikes.

And it was eleven o’clock. Which was Time-for-a-little-something....

When Piglet had finished jumping, he wiped his paws on his front, and said, “What shall we do now?” and Pooh said, “Let’s go and see Kanga and Roo and Tigger,” and Piglet said, “Y-yes. L-lets”—because he was still a little anxious about Tigger, who was a Very Bouncy Animal, with a way of saying How-do-you-do, which always left your ears full of sand, even after Kanga had said, “Gently, Tigger dear,” and had helped you up again.

“Besides, Pooh, it’s a very difficult thing, planting unless you know how to do it,” he said; and he put the acorn in the hole he had made, and covered it up with earth, and jumped on it. “I do know,” said Pooh, “because Christopher Robin gave me a mastershalum seed, and I planted it, and I’m going to have mastershalums all over the front door.” “I thought they were called nasturtiums,” said Piglet timidly, as he went on jumping. “No,” said Pooh. “Not these. These are called mastershalums.”

“It’s all very well for Jumping Animals like Kangas, but it’s quite different for Swimming Animals like Tiggers.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it hailed a good deal tomorrow,” Eeyore was saying. “Blizzards and what-not. Being fine today doesn’t Mean Anything. It has no sig—what’s that word? Well, it has none of that. It’s just a small piece of weather.”

“I’m not saying there won’t be an Accident now, mind you. They’re funny things, Accidents. You never have them till you’re having them.”

“Getting Tigger down,” said Eeyore, “and Not hurting anybody. Keep those two ideas in your head, Piglet, and you’ll be all right.”

“I thought,” said Piglet earnestly, “that if Eeyore stood at the bottom of the tree, and if Pooh stood on Eeyore’s back, and if I stood on Pooh’s shoulders——” “And if Eeyore’s back snapped suddenly, then we could all laugh. Ha ha! Amusing in a quiet way,” said Eeyore, “but not really helpful.” “Well,” said Piglet meekly, “I thought——” “Would it break your back, Eeyore?” asked Pooh, very much surprised. “That’s what would be so interesting, Pooh. Not being quite sure till afterwards.”

“After all,” said Rabbit to himself, “Christopher Robin depends on Me. He’s fond of Pooh and Piglet and Eeyore, and so am I, but they haven’t any Brain. Not to notice. And he respects Owl, because you can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count. And Kanga is too busy looking after Roo, and Roo is too young and Tigger is too bouncy to be any help, so there’s really nobody but Me, when you come to look at it. I’ll go and see if there’s anything he wants doing, and then I’ll do it for him. It’s just the day for doing things.”

“Well, the point is, have you seen a Spotted or Herbaceous Backson in the Forest, at all?” “No,” said Pooh. “Not a—no,” said Pooh. “I saw Tigger just now.” “That’s no good.” “No,” said Pooh. “I thought it wasn’t.”

“I’m telling you. People come and go in this Forest, and they say, ‘It’s only Eeyore, so it doesn’t count.’ They walk to and fro saying ‘Ha ha!’ But do they know anything about A? They don’t. It’s just three sticks to them. But to the Educated—mark this, little Piglet—to the Educated, not meaning Poohs and Piglets, it’s a great and glorious A. Not,” he added, “just something that anybody can come and breathe on.”

Rabbit came up importantly, nodded to Piglet, and said, “Ah, Eeyore,” in the voice of one who would be saying “Good-bye” in about two more minutes.

“What does Christopher Robin do in the mornings? He learns. He becomes Educated. He instigorates—I think that is the word he mentioned, but I may be referring to something else—he instigorates Knowledge. In my small way I also, if I have the word right, am—am doing what he does.”

Eeyore looked at his sticks and then he looked at Piglet. “What did Rabbit say it was?” he asked. “An A,” said Piglet. “Did you tell him?” “No, Eeyore, I didn’t. I expect he just knew.” “He knew? You mean this A thing is a thing Rabbit knew?” “Yes, Eeyore. He’s clever, Rabbit is.”

“Clever!” said Eeyore scornfully, putting a foot heavily on his three sticks. “Education!” said Eeyore bitterly, jumping on his six sticks. “What is Learning?” asked Eeyore as he kicked his twelve sticks into the air. ”

“I think——” began Piglet nervously. “Don’t,” said Eeyore.

“Do you know what A means, little Piglet?” “No, Eeyore, I don’t.” “It means Learning, it means Education, it means all the things that you and Pooh haven’t got. That’s what A means.”

He came to Owl’s door, and he knocked and he rang, and he rang and he knocked, and at last Owl’s head came out and said “Go away, I’m thinking—oh it’s you?” which was how he always began.

He could spell his own name WOL, and he could spell Tuesday so that you knew it wasn’t Wednesday, and he could read quite comfortably when you weren’t looking over his shoulder and saying “Well?”

“Amazing,” said Owl, looking at the notice again, and getting, just for a moment, a curious sort of feeling that something had happened to Christopher Robin’s back. “What did you do?” “Nothing.” “The best thing,” said Owl wisely.

“Can they fly?” asked Roo. “Yes,” said Tigger, “they’re very good flyers, Tiggers are. Stornry good flyers.” “Oo!” said Roo. “Can they fly as well as Owl?” “Yes,” said Tigger. “Only they don’t want to.”

The next day was quite a different day. Instead of being hot and sunny, it was cold and misty. Pooh didn’t mind for himself, but when he thought of all the honey the bees wouldn’t be making, a cold and misty day always made him feel sorry for them.

“What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying ‘What about a little something?’ and Me saying, ‘Well, I shouldn’t mind a little something, should you, Piglet,’ and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing.”

By the time it came to the edge of the Forest the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and, being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, “There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to find out before it was too late.

Now one day Pooh and Piglet and Rabbit and Roo were all playing Poohsticks together. They had dropped their sticks in when Rabbit said “Go!” and then they had hurried across to the other side of the bridge, and now they were all leaning over the edge, waiting to see whose stick would come out first. But it was a long time coming, because the river was very lazy that day, and hardly seemed to mind if it didn’t ever get there at all.

“There’s too much of him,” said Rabbit, “that’s what it comes to.”

“Tomorrow?” said Roo hopefully. “We’ll see,” said Kanga. “You’re always seeing, and nothing ever happens,” said Roo sadly.

“Nasty cold day,” said Rabbit, shaking his head. “And you were coughing this morning.” “How do you know?” asked Roo indignantly. “Oh, Roo, you never told me,” said Kanga reproachfully. “It was a Biscuit Cough,” said Roo, “not one you tell about.”

So he went home with Pooh, and watched him for quite a long time ... and all the time he was watching, Tigger was tearing round the Forest making loud yapping noises for Rabbit. And at last a very Small and Sorry Rabbit heard him. And the Small and Sorry Rabbit rushed through the mist at the noise, and it suddenly turned into Tigger; a Friendly Tigger, a Grand Tigger, a Large and Helpful Tigger, a Tigger who bounced, if he bounced at all, in just the beautiful way a Tigger ought to bounce. “Oh, Tigger, I am glad to see you,” cried Rabbit.

“Let’s go and see everybody,” said Pooh. “Because when you’ve been walking in the wind for miles, and you suddenly go into somebody’s house, and he says, ‘Hallo, Pooh, you’re just in time for a little smackerel of something,’ and you are, then it’s what I call a Friendly Day.”

“We just came to see you,” said Piglet. “And to see how your house was. Look, Pooh, it’s still standing!” “I know,” said Eeyore. “Very odd. Somebody ought to have come down and pushed it over.” “We wondered whether the wind would blow it down,” said Pooh. “Ah, that’s why nobody’s bothered, I suppose. I thought perhaps they’d forgotten.”

Owl explained about the Necessary Dorsal Muscles. He had explained this to Pooh and Christopher Robin once before, and had been waiting ever since for a chance to do it again, because it is a thing which you can easily explain twice before anybody knows what you are talking about.

“You only blinched inside,” said Pooh, “and that’s the bravest way for a Very Small Animal not to blinch that there is.”

“What would you do, if your house was blown down?” Before Piglet could think, Pooh answered for him. “He’d come and live with me,” said Pooh, “wouldn’t you, Piglet?” Piglet squeezed his paw. “Thank you, Pooh,” he said, “I should love to.”

And then Piglet did a Noble Thing, and he did it in a sort of dream, while he was thinking of all the wonderful words Pooh had hummed about him. “Yes, it’s just the house for Owl,” he said grandly. “And I hope he’ll be very happy in it.” And then he gulped twice, because he had been very happy in it himself.

“Now then, Eeyore,” he said. “Don’t Bustle me,” said Eeyore, getting up slowly. “Don’t now-then me.”

“All the Poetry in the Forest has been written by Pooh, a Bear with a Pleasing Manner but a Positively Startling Lack of Brain.

“If anybody wants to clap,” said Eeyore when he had read this, “now is the time to do it.” They all clapped. “Thank you,” said Eeyore. “Unexpected and gratifying, if a little lacking in Smack.”

“It’s much better than mine,” said Pooh admiringly, and he really thought it was. “Well,” explained Eeyore modestly, “it was meant to be.”

“Eeyore, what are you doing there?” said Rabbit. “I’ll give you three guesses, Rabbit. Digging holes in the ground? Wrong. Leaping from branch to branch of a young oak tree? Wrong. Waiting for somebody to help me out of the river? Right. Give Rabbit time, and he’ll always get the answer.”

Pooh looked at his two paws. He knew that one of them was the right, and he knew that when you had decided which one of them was the right, then the other one was the left, but he never could remember how to begin.