Winnie-the-Pooh

his nose and trickled all through him and out at the soles of his feet. It was just as if somebody inside him were saying, ‘Now then, Pooh, time for a little something.’

‘Dear, dear,’ said Pooh, ‘I didn’t know it was as late as that.’ So he sat down and took the top off his jar of honey. ‘Lucky I brought this with me,’ he thought. ‘Many a bear going out on a warm day like this would never have thought of bringing a little something with him.’ And he began to eat.

‘Now let me see,’ he thought, as he took his last lick of the inside of the jar, ‘where was I going? Ah, yes, Eeyore.’ He got up slowly.

And then, suddenly, he remembered. He had eaten Eeyore’s birthday present!

‘Bother!’ said Pooh. ‘What shall I do? I must give him something.’

For a little while he couldn’t think of anything. Then he thought: ‘Well, it’s a very nice pot, even if there’s no honey in it, and if I washed it clean, and got somebody to write “A Happy Birthday” on it, Eeyore could keep things in it, which might be Useful.’ So, as he was just passing the Hundred Acre Wood, he went inside to call on Owl, who lived there.

‘Good morning, Owl,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Pooh,’ said Owl.

‘Many happy returns of Eeyore’s birthday,’ said Pooh.

‘Oh, is that what it is?’

‘What are you giving him, Owl?’

‘What are you giving him, Pooh?’

‘I’m giving him a Useful Pot to Keep Things In, and I wanted to ask you—’

‘Is this it?’ said Owl, taking it out of Pooh’s paw.

‘Yes, and I wanted to ask you—’

‘Somebody has been keeping honey in it,’ said Owl.

‘You can keep anything in it,’ said Pooh earnestly. ‘It’s Very Useful like that. And I wanted to ask you—’

‘You ought to write “A Happy Birthday” on it.’

‘That was what I wanted to ask you,’ said Pooh. ‘Because my spelling is Wobbly. It’s good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places. Would you write “A Happy Birthday” on it for me?’

‘It’s a nice pot,’ said Owl, looking at it all round. ‘Couldn’t I give it too? From both of us?’

‘No,’ said Pooh. ‘That would not be a good plan. Now I’ll just wash it first, and then you can write on it.’

Well, he washed the pot out, and dried it, while Owl licked the end of his pencil, and wondered how to spell ‘birthday’.

‘Can you read, Pooh?’ he asked a little anxiously. ‘There’s a notice about knocking and ringing outside my door, which Christopher Robin wrote. Could you read it?’

‘Christopher Robin told me what it said, and then I could.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you what this says, and then you’ll be able to.’

So Owl wrote … and this is what he wrote:

HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA

BTHUTHDY.

Pooh looked on admiringly.

‘I’m just saying “A Happy Birthday”,’ said Owl carelessly.

‘It’s a nice long one,’ said Pooh, very much impressed by it.

‘Well, actually, of course, I’m saying “A Very Happy Birthday with love from Pooh.” Naturally it takes a good deal of pencil to say a long thing like that.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Pooh.

While all this was happening, Piglet had gone back to his own house to get Eeyore’s balloon. He held it very tightly against himself, so that it shouldn’t blow away, and he ran as fast as he could so as to get to Eeyore before Pooh did; for he thought that he would like to be the first one to give a present, just as if he had thought of it without being told by anybody. And running along, and thinking how pleased Eeyore would be, he didn’t look where he was going … and suddenly he put his foot in a rabbit hole, and fell down flat on his face.

BANG!!!???***!!!

Piglet lay there, wondering what had happened. At first he thought that the whole world had blown up; and then he thought that perhaps only the Forest part of it had; and then he thought that perhaps only he had, and he was now alone in the moon or somewhere, and would never see Christopher Robin or Pooh or Eeyore again. And then he thought, ‘Well, even if I’m in the moon, I needn’t be face downwards all the time,’ so he got cautiously up and looked about him.

He was still in the Forest!

‘Well, that’s funny,’ he thought. ‘I wonder what that bang was. I couldn’t have made such a noise just falling down. And where’s my balloon? And what’s that small piece of damp rag doing?’

It was the balloon!

‘Oh, dear!’ said Piglet. ‘Oh, dear, oh, dearie, dearie, dear! Well, it’s too late now. I can’t go back, and I haven’t another balloon, and perhaps Eeyore doesn’t like balloons so very much.’

So he trotted on, rather sadly now, and down he came to the side of the stream where Eeyore was, and called out to him.

‘Good morning, Eeyore,’ shouted Piglet.

‘Good morning, Little Piglet,’ said Eeyore. ‘If it is a good morning,’ he said. ‘Which I doubt,’ said he. ‘Not that it matters,’ he said.

‘Many happy returns of the day,’ said Piglet, having now got closer.

Eeyore stopped looking at himself in the stream, and turned to stare at Piglet.

‘Just say that again,’ he said.

‘Many hap—’

‘Wait a moment.’

Balancing on three legs, he began to bring his fourth leg very cautiously up to his ear. ‘I did this yesterday,’ he explained, as he fell down for the third time. ‘It’s quite easy. It’s so as I can hear better. … There, that’s done it! Now then, what were you saying?’ He pushed his ear forward with his hoof.

‘Many happy returns of the day,’ said Piglet again.

‘Meaning me?’

‘Of course, Eeyore.’

‘My birthday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Me having a real birthday?’

“Yes, Eeyore, and I’ve brought you a present.’

Eeyore took down his right hoof from his right ear, turned round, and with great difficulty put up his left hoof.

‘I must have that in the other ear,’ he said. ‘Now then.’

‘A present,’ said Piglet very loudly.

‘Meaning me again?’