The House at Pooh Corner Quotes

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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?”

“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.

Pooh began to feel a little more comfortable, because when you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.

Christopher Robin came down from the Forest to the bridge, feeling all sunny and careless, and just as if twice nineteen didn’t matter a bit, as it didn’t on such a happy afternoon, and he thought that if he stood on the bottom rail of the bridge, and leant over, and watched the river slipping slowly away beneath him, then he would suddenly know everything that there was to be known, and he would be able to tell Pooh, who wasn’t quite sure about some of it.

“Tiggers never go on being Sad,” explained Rabbit. “They get over it with Astonishing Rapidity.”

“Well,” said Pooh, “we keep looking for Home and not finding it, so I thought that if we looked for this Pit, we’d be sure not to find it, which would be a Good Thing, because then we might find something that we weren’t looking for, which might be just what we were looking for, really.” “I don’t see much sense in that,” said Rabbit. “No,” said Pooh humbly, “there isn’t. But there was going to be when I began it. It’s just that something happened to it on the way.”

Pooh’s side of the room was slowly tilting upwards and his chair began sliding down on Piglet’s. The clock slithered gently along the mantelpiece, collecting vases on the way, until they all crashed together on to what had once been the floor, but was now trying to see what it looked like as a wall.

“That’s right, Eeyore. Drop in on any of us at any time, when you feel like it.” “Thank-you, Rabbit. And if anybody says in a Loud Voice ‘Bother, it’s Eeyore,’ I can drop out again.”

“And what about the new house?” asked Pooh. “Have you found it, Owl?” “He’s found a name for it,” said Christopher Robin, lazily nibbling at a piece of grass, “so now all he wants is the house.”

“Come on, Pooh,” and he walked off quickly. “Where are we going?” said Pooh, hurrying after him, and wondering whether it was to be an Explore or a What-shall-I-do-about-you-know-what. “Nowhere,” said Christopher Robin.

Suddenly Christopher Robin began to tell Pooh about some of the things: People called Kings and Queens and something called Factors, and a place called Europe, and an island in the middle of the sea where no ships came, and how you make a Suction Pump (if you want to), and when Knights were Knighted, and what comes from Brazil. And Pooh, his back against one of the sixty-something trees, and his paws folded in front of him, said “Oh!” and “I didn’t know,” and thought how wonderful it would be to have a Real Brain which could tell you things. And by-and-by Christopher Robin came to an end of the things, and was silent, and he sat there looking out over the world, and wishing it wouldn’t stop.

“Owl,” said Pooh, “I have thought of something.” “Astute and Helpful Bear,” said Owl. Pooh looked proud at being called a stout and helpful bear, and said modestly that he just happened to think of it.

“It won’t break,” whispered Pooh comfortingly, “because you’re a Small Animal, and I’ll stand underneath, and if you save us all, it will be a Very Grand Thing to talk about afterwards, and perhaps I’ll make up a Song, and people will say ‘It was so grand what Piglet did that a Respectful Pooh Song was made about it.’

So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh’s paw. “Pooh,” said Christopher Robin earnestly, “if I—if I’m not quite——” he stopped and tried again—“Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?” “Understand what?” “Oh, nothing.” He laughed and jumped to his feet. “Come on!” “Where?” said Pooh. “Anywhere,” said Christopher Robin.

“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.” Pooh thought for a little. “How old shall I be then?” “Ninety-nine.” Pooh nodded. “I promise,” he said.

“Pooh,” said Owl severely, “did you do that?” “No,” said Pooh humbly. “I don’t think so.” “Then who did?” “I think it was the wind,” said Piglet. “I think your house has blown down.” “Oh, is that it? I thought it was Pooh.” “No,” said Pooh. “If it was the wind,” said Owl, considering the matter, “then it wasn’t Pooh’s fault. No blame can be attached to him.” With these kind words he flew up to look at his new ceiling.

“Courage!” he said. “There’s always hope.

So Pooh hummed it to him, all the seven verses and Piglet said nothing, but just stood and glowed. Never before had anyone sung ho for Piglet (PIGLET) ho all by himself.

Kanga was down below tying the things on, and calling out to Owl, “You won’t want this dirty old dish-cloth any more, will you, and what about this carpet, it’s all in holes,” and Owl was calling back indignantly, “Of course I do! It’s just a question of arranging the furniture properly, and it isn’t a dish-cloth, it’s my shawl.”

So she got cross with Owl and said that his house was a Disgrace, all damp and dirty, and it was quite time it did tumble down. Look at that horrid bunch of toadstools growing out of the floor there! So Owl looked down, a little surprised because he didn’t know about this, and then gave a short sarcastic laugh, and explained that that was his sponge, and that if people didn’t know a perfectly ordinary bath-sponge when they saw it, things were coming to a pretty pass.

“Oh, there it is! Oh, Owl! Owl, it isn’t a sponge, it’s a spudge! Do you know what a spudge is, Owl? It’s when your sponge gets all——” and Kanga said, “Roo, dear!” very quickly, because that’s not the way to talk to anybody who can spell TUESDAY.

“I shall have to go and find them,” explained Tigger to Roo. “May I find them too?” asked Roo eagerly. “I think not today, dear,” said Kanga. “Another day.” “Well, if they’re lost tomorrow, may I find them?” “We’ll see,” said Kanga, and Roo, who knew what that meant, went into a corner, and practised jumping out at himself, partly because he wanted to practise this, and partly because he didn’t want Christopher Robin and Tigger to think that he minded when they went off without him.

“It’s a funny thing about Tiggers,” whispered Tigger to Roo, “how Tiggers never get lost.”

“You can go and collect some fir-cones for me,” said Kanga, giving them a basket. So they went to the Six Pine Trees, and threw fir-cones at each other until they had forgotten what they came for, and they left the basket under the trees and went back to dinner.

He laughed and jumped to his feet. “Come on!” “Where?” said Pooh. “Anywhere,” said Christopher Robin.

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out “Pooh!” “Yes?” said Pooh. “When I’m—when——Pooh!” “Yes, Christopher Robin?” “I’m not going to do Nothing any more.” “Never again?” “Well, not so much. They don’t let you.” Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again. “Yes, Christopher Robin?” said Pooh helpfully. “Pooh, when I’m—you know—when I’m not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?” “Just Me?” “Yes, Pooh.” “Will you be here too?” “Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh.” “That’s good,” said Pooh.

“So, perhaps,” he said sadly to himself, “Christopher Robin won’t tell me any more,” and he wondered if being a Faithful Knight meant that you just went on being faithful without being told things.

“Is it a very Grand thing to be an Afternoon, what you said?” “A what?” said Christopher Robin lazily, as he listened to something else. “On a horse,” explained Pooh. “A Knight?” “Oh, was that it?” said Pooh. “I thought it was a——Is it as Grand as a King and Factors and all the other things you said?” “Well, it’s not as grand as a King,” said Christopher Robin, and then, as Pooh seemed disappointed, he added quickly, “but it’s grander than Factors.” “Could a Bear be one?” “Of course he could!” said Christopher Robin. “I’ll make you one.” And he took a stick and touched Pooh on the shoulder, and said, “Rise, Sir Pooh de Bear, most faithful of all my Knights.”

“But what I like doing best is Nothing.”

“How do you do Nothing?” asked Pooh, after he had wondered for a long time. “Well, it’s when people call out at you just as you’re going off to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh, nothing, and then you go and do it.”

“Did I really do all that?” he said at last. “Well,” said Pooh, “in poetry—in a piece of poetry—well, you did it, Piglet, because the poetry says you did. And that’s how people know.”

Owl looked at the notice again. To one of his education the reading of it was easy.

“But, Eeyore,” said Pooh in distress, “what can we—I mean, how shall we—do you think if we——” “Yes,” said Eeyore. “One of those would be just the thing. Thank you, Pooh.”

“I’ve got a sort of idea,” said Pooh at last, “but I don’t suppose it’s a very good one.” “I don’t suppose it is either,” said Eeyore.