Winnie-the-Pooh

‘Why, what’s the trouble, Piglet?’

‘Nothing,’ said Piglet, ‘as long as we all three say it. As long as we all three say it,’ said Piglet, ‘I don’t mind,’ he said, ‘but I shouldn’t care to say “Aha!” by myself. It wouldn’t sound nearly so well. By the way,’ he said, ‘you are quite sure about what you said about the winter months?’

‘The winter months?’

‘Yes, only being Fierce in the Winter Months.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, that’s all right. Well, Pooh? You see what you have to do?’

‘No,’ said Pooh Bear. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘What do I do?’

‘Well, you just have to talk very hard to Kanga so as she doesn’t notice anything.’

‘Oh! What about?’

‘Anything you like.’

‘You mean like telling her a little bit of poetry or something?’

‘That’s it,’ said Rabbit. ‘Splendid. Now come along.’

So they all went out to look for Kanga.

Kanga and Roo were spending a quiet afternoon in a sandy part of the Forest. Baby Roo was practising very small jumps in the sand, and falling down mouse-holes and climbing out of them, and Kanga was fidgeting about and saying ‘Just one more jump, dear, and then we must go home.’ And at that moment who should come stumping up the hill but Pooh.

‘Good afternoon, Kanga.’

‘Good afternoon, Pooh.’

‘Look at me jumping,’ squeaked Roo, and fell into another mouse-hole.

‘Hallo, Roo, my little fellow!’

‘We were just going home,’ said Kanga. ‘Good afternoon, Rabbit. Good afternoon, Piglet.’

Rabbit and Piglet, who had now come up from the other side of the hill, said ‘Good afternoon,’ and ‘Hallo, Roo,’ and Roo asked them to look at him jumping, so they stayed and looked.

And Kanga looked too. …

‘Oh, Kanga,’ said Pooh, after Rabbit had winked at him twice, ‘I don’t know if you are interested in Poetry at all?’

‘Hardly at all,’ said Kanga.

‘Oh!’ said Pooh.

‘Roo, dear, just one more jump and then we must go home.’

There was a short silence while Roo fell down another mouse-hole.

‘Go on,’ said Rabbit in a loud whisper behind his paw.

‘Talking of Poetry,’ said Pooh, ‘I made up a little piece as I was coming along. It went like this. Er – now let me see—’

‘Fancy!’ said Kanga. ‘Now Roo, dear—’

‘You’ll like this piece of poetry,’ said Rabbit.

‘You’ll love it,’ said Piglet.

‘You must listen very carefully,’ said Rabbit.

‘So as not to miss any of it,’ said Piglet.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Kanga, but she still looked at Baby Roo.

‘How did it go, Pooh?’ said Rabbit.

Pooh gave a little cough and began.

LINES WRITTEN BY

A BEAR OF VERY LITTLE BRAIN

On Monday, when the sun is hot

I wonder to myself a lot:

‘Now is it true, or is it not,

‘That what is which and which is what?’

On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,

The feeling on me grows and grows

That hardly anybody knows

If those are these or these are those.

On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,

And I have nothing else to do,

I sometimes wonder if it’s true

That who is what and what is who.

On Thursday, when it starts to freeze

And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees,

How very readily one sees

That these are whose – but whose are these?

On Friday —

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ said Kanga, not waiting to hear what happened on Friday. ‘Just one more jump, Roo, dear, and then we really must be going.’

Rabbit gave Pooh a hurrying-up sort of nudge.

‘Talking of Poetry,’ said Pooh quickly, ‘have you ever noticed that tree right over there?’

‘Where?’ said Kanga. ‘Now, Roo—’

‘Right over there,’ said Pooh, pointing behind Kanga’s back.

‘No,’ said Kanga.

‘Now jump in, Roo, dear, and we’ll go home.’

‘You ought to look at that tree right over there,’ said Rabbit. ‘Shall I lift you in, Roo?’ And he picked up Roo in his paws.

‘I can see a bird in it from here,’ said Pooh. ‘Or is it a fish?’

‘You ought to see that bird from here,’ said Rabbit. ‘Unless it’s a fish.’

‘It isn’t a fish, it’s a bird,’ said Piglet.

‘So it is,’ said Rabbit.

‘Is it a starling or a blackbird?’ said Pooh.

‘That’s the whole question,’ said Rabbit. ‘Is it a blackbird or a starling?’

And then at last Kanga did turn her head to look. And the moment that her head was turned, Rabbit said in a loud voice ‘In you go, Roo!’ and in jumped Piglet into Kanga’s pocket, and off scampered Rabbit, with Roo in his paws, as fast as he could.

‘Why, where’s Rabbit?’ said Kanga, turning round again. ‘Are you all right, Roo, dear?’

Piglet made a squeaky Roo-noise from the bottom of Kanga’s pocket.

‘Rabbit had to go away,’ said Pooh. ‘I think he thought of something he had to go and see about suddenly.’

‘And Piglet?’

‘I think Piglet thought of something at the same time. Suddenly.’

‘Well, we must be getting home,’ said Kanga. ‘Good-bye, Pooh.’ And in three large jumps she was gone.

Pooh looked after her as she went.

‘I wish I could jump like that,’ he thought. ‘Some can and some can’t. That’s how it is.’

But there were moments when Piglet wished that Kanga couldn’t. Often, when he had had a long walk home through the Forest, he had wished that he were a bird; but now he thought jerkily to himself at the bottom of Kanga’s pocket,

‘If ^this is _{flying I} shall _never really ^take to _it’