Winnie the Pooh 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.”

“‘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 today?’ said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s the same thing,’ he said.”

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

“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.”

“A day without a friend is like a pot without a single drop of honey left inside.”

“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.”

“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 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.”

“Now let me see,” he thought, as he took his last lick of the inside of the jar, “where was I going, Ah, yes, Eeyore.” He got up slowly. And then, suddenly, he remembered. He had eaten Eeyore’s present!

″‘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.‘”

″‘I’m afraid no meals,’ said Christopher Robin, ‘because of getting thin quicker. But we will read to you.‘”

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

“Silly old Bear,” he said.

“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?‘”

“‘Rabbit’s clever,’ said Pooh thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ said Piglet, ‘Rabbit’s clever.’ ‘And he has Brain.’ ‘Yes,’ said Piglet, ‘Rabbit has Brain.’ There was a long silence. ‘I suppose,’ said Pooh, ‘that that’s why he never understands anything.‘”

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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

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

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

“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!”

“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!”

“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.

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.”

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.”

“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.

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!”

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.

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.

“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.

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.

“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.

“I think the bees suspect something!”

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

“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.

“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.”

“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.

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.”

“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.”

“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.

“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.

“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.”

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

“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!”

“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.

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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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.

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.”

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

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

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.

“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.

“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.

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.”

“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.”

“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.