Winnie the Pooh Read Free

Pooh, “but you missed the balloon .”
    “I’m so sorry,” you said, and you fired again, and this time you hit the balloon, and the air came slowly out, and Winnie-the-Pooh floated down to the ground.

    But his arms were so stiff from holding on to the string of the balloon all that time that they stayed up straight in the air for more than a week, and whenever a fly came and settled on his nose he had to blow it off. And I think—but I am not sure—that that is why he was always called Pooh.
     
    “Is that the end of the story?” asked Christopher Robin.
    “That’s the end of that one. There are others.”
    “About Pooh and Me?”
    “And Piglet and Rabbit and all of you. Don’t you remember?”
    “I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget.”
    “That day when Pooh and Piglet tried to catch the Heffalump—”
    “They didn’t catch it, did they?”
    “No.”
    “Pooh couldn’t, because he hasn’t any brain. Did I catch it?”
    “Well, that comes into the story.”
    Christopher Robin nodded.
    “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.”
    “That’s just how I feel,” I said.
    Christopher Robin gave a deep sigh, picked his Bear up by the leg, and walked off to the door, trailing Pooh behind him. At the door he turned and said, “Coming to see me have my bath?”
    “I might,” I said.

    “I didn’t hurt him when I shot him, did I?”
    “Not a bit.”
    He nodded and went out, and in a moment I heard Winnie-the-Pooh —bump—bump—bump— going up the stairs behind him.

Chapter Two
    IN WHICH
    Pooh Goes Visiting and Gets Into a Tight Place

    E DWARD BEAR , known to his friends as Winnie-the-Pooh, or Pooh for short, was walking through the forest one day, humming proudly to himself. He had made up a little hum that very morning, as he was doing his Stoutness Exercises in front of the glass: Tra-la-la, tra-la-la , as he stretched up as high as he could go, and then Tra-la-la, tra-la-oh, help!—la , as he tried to reach his toes. After breakfast he had said it over and over to himself until he had learnt it off by heart, and now he was humming it right through, properly. It went like this:

Tra-la-la, tra-la-la ,
Tra-la-la, tra-la-la ,
Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum .
Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle ,
Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle ,
Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um .
    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.
    “Aha!” said Pooh. (Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum.) “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. Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um .”
    So he bent down, put his head into the hole, and called out:
    “Is anybody at home?”
    There was a sudden scuffling noise from inside the hole, and then silence.
    “What I said was, ‘Is anybody at home?’” called out Pooh very loudly.
    “No!” said a voice; and then added, “you needn’t shout so loud. I heard you quite well the first time.”
    “Bother!” said Pooh. “Isn’t there anybody here at all?”
    “Nobody.”
    Winnie-the-Pooh took his head out of the hole, and thought for a little, and he thought to himself, “There must be somebody there, because somebody must have said ‘Nobody.’” So he put his head back in the hole, and said:
    “Hallo, Rabbit, isn’t that you?”
    “No,” said Rabbit, in a different sort of voice this time.
    “But isn’t that Rabbit’s voice?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Rabbit. “It isn’t meant to be.”
    “Oh!” said Pooh.
    He took his head out of the hole, and had another think, and then he put it back, and said:
    “Well, could you very kindly tell me where Rabbit