Alan Alexander Miln. The house at Pooh Corner -
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"Hot!" he explained with a large and friendly smile.
"Come on!" and he rushed off.
Pooh and Piglet walked slowly after him. And as they
walked Piglet said nothing, because he couldn't think of
anything, and Pooh said nothing, because he was thinking of a
poem. And when he had thought of it he began:
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.
"He's quite big enough anyhow," said Piglet.
"He isn't really very big."
"Well he seems so."
Pooh was thoughtful when he heard this, and then he
murmured to himself:
But whatever his weight in pounds, shillings,
and ounces,
He always seems bigger because of his bounces.
"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."
"Oh, I didn't know," said Piglet.
Tigger had been bouncing in front of them all this
time, turning round every now and then to ask, "Is this the
way?"--and now at last they came in sight of Kanga's house, and
there was Christopher Robin. Tigger rushed up to him.
"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