Chapter One
in which Christopher Robin returns
WHO STARTED IT? Nobody knew. One moment there was the usual Forest babble: the wind in the trees, the crow of a cock, the cheerful water in the streams. Then came the Rumour: Christopher Robin is back!
Owl said he heard it from Rabbit, and Rabbit said he heard it from Piglet, and Piglet said he just sort of heard it, and Kanga said why not ask Winnie the Pooh? And since that seemed like a Very Encouraging Idea on such a sunny morning,off Piglet trotted, arriving in time to find Pooh anxiously counting his pots of honey.
“Isn’t it odd?” said Pooh.
“Isn’t what odd?”
Pooh rubbed his nose with his paw. “I wish they would sit still. They shuffle around when they think I’m not looking. A moment ago there were eleven and now there are only ten. It is odd, isn’t it, Piglet?”
“It’s even,” said Piglet, “if it’s ten, that is. And if it isn’t,itisn’t.”Hearing himself saying this, Piglet thought that it didn’t sound quite right, but Pooh was still counting, moving the pots from one corner of the table to the other and back again.
“Bother,”said Pooh.“Christopher Robin would know if he was here. He was good at counting. He always made things come out the same way twice and that’s what good counting is.”
“But Pooh . . .” Piglet began, the tip of his nose growing pink with excitement.
“On the other hand it’s not easy to count things when they won’t stay still. Like snowflakes and stars.”
“But Pooh . . .” And if Piglet’s nose was pink before, it was scarlet now.
“I’ve made up a hum about it. Would you like to hear it, Piglet?”
Piglet was about to say that hums were splendid things, and Pooh’s hums were the best there were, but Rumours com efirst; then he thought what a nice feeling it was to have a Big Piece of News and to be about to Pass It On; then he remembered the hum which Pooh had made up about him, Piglet, and how it had had seven verses, which was more verses than a hum had ever had since time began, and that they were all about him, and so he said:“Ooh, yes, Pooh, please, ”and Pooh glowed a little because a hum is all very well as far as it goes,and very well indeed when it goes for seven verses, but it isn’t a Real Hum until it’s been tried out on somebody, and while honey is always welcome, it’s welcomest of all directly after a hum.
This is the hum which Pooh hummed to Piglet on the day which started like any other day and became a very special day indeed.
If you want to count your honey,
You must put it in a row,
In the sun if it is sunny,
If it’s snowy in the snow.
And you’ll know when you have counted
How much honey you have got.
Yes, you’ll know what the amount is
And so therefore what it’s not.
“And I think it’s eleven,” added Pooh, “which is an excellent number of pots for a Thursday, though twelve would be even better.”
“Pooh, ” said Piglet quickly, in case there was a third verse on the way which would be nice, but time-consuming, “I have a Very Important Question to ask you.”
“The answer is Yes,” said Pooh. “It is time for a little something.”
“But, Pooh,” said Piglet, the tip of his nose by now quite crims on with anxiety and frustration, “the question is not about little somethings but big somethings. It’s about Christopher Robin.”
Pooh, who had just put his paw into the tenth pot of honey, left it there ,just to be on the safe side, and asked: “What about Christopher Robin?”
“The Rumour, Pooh. Do you suppose he has come back?”
Eeyore, the grey donkey, was standing at the edge of the Hundred Acre Wood, staring at a patch of thistles. He had been saving them for a Rainy Day and was beginning to wonder whether it would ever rain again and whether, by the time it did, there would be any juice left in them, when Pooh and Piglet came by.
“Hallo, little Piglet,” said Eeyore. “Hallo, Pooh. And what are you doing around here?”
“We came to see you, Eeyore,” said Pooh.
“A quiet day, was it, Pooh? An if-we-haven’t-anything-better-to-do sort of day? How very thoughtful.”
Piglet wondered how it was that every conversation with Eeyore seemed to go wrong.
“Time hanging heavy, was it, Piglet? And, Pooh, I would thank you not to stand on those thistles.”
“Which ones would you like me to stand on?” asked Pooh.
“But, Eeyore,” squeaked Piglet, “it’s C-C-C-”
“Have you swallowed something, little Piglet? Not a thistle, I trust?”