Alan Alexander Miln. The house at Pooh Corner -
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You can see a skylark singing,
And the blue-bells, which are ringing,
Can be heard.
And the cuckoo isn't cooing,
But he's cucking and he's ooing,
And a Pooh is simply poohing
Like a bird.
"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. "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."
"Have you seen Piglet?"
"Yes," said Pooh. "I suppose that isn't any good
either?" he asked meekly.
"Well, it depends if he saw anything."
"He saw me," said Pooh.
Rabbit sat down on the ground next to Pooh and, feeling
much less important like that, stood up again.
"What it all comes to is this," he said. "What does
Christopher Robin do in the morning nowadays?"
"What sort of thing?"
"Well, can you tell me anything you've seen him do in
the morning? These last few days."
"Yes," said Pooh. "We had breakfast together yesterday.
By the Pine Trees. I'd made up a little basket, just a little,
fair-sized basket, an ordinary biggish sort of basket, full
of--"
"Yes, yes," said Rabbit, "but I mean later than that.
Have you seen him between eleven and twelve?"
"Well," said Pooh, "at eleven o'clock--at eleven