A.A. Milne - Winnie-the-Pooh

‘Fancy!’ said Kanga. ‘Now Roo, dear—’

‘You’ll like this piece of poetry,’ said Rabbit.

‘You’ll love it,’ said Piglet.

‘You must listen very carefully,’ said Rabbit.

‘So as not to miss any of it,’ said Piglet.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Kanga, but she still looked at Baby Roo.

‘ How did it go, Pooh?’ said Rabbit.

Pooh gave a little cough and began.

LINES WRITTEN BY

A BEAR OF VERY LITTLE BRAIN

On Monday, when the sun is hot

I wonder to myself a lot:

‘Now is it true, or is it not,

‘That what is which and which is what?’

On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,

The feeling on me grows and grows

That hardly anybody knows

If those are these or these are those.

On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,

And I have nothing else to do,

I sometimes wonder if it’s true

That who is what and what is who.

On Thursday, when it starts to freeze

And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees,

How very readily one sees

That these are whose – but whose are these?

On Friday —

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ said Kanga, not waiting to hear what happened on Friday. ‘Just one more jump, Roo, dear, and then we really must be going.’

Rabbit gave Pooh a hurrying-up sort of nudge.

‘Talking of Poetry,’ said Pooh quickly, ‘have you ever noticed that tree right over there?’

‘Where?’ said Kanga. ‘Now, Roo—’

‘Right over there,’ said Pooh, pointing behind Kanga’s back.

‘No,’ said Kanga.

‘Now jump in, Roo, dear, and we’ll go home.’

‘You ought to look at that tree right over there,’ said Rabbit. ‘Shall I lift you in, Roo?’ And he picked up Roo in his paws.

‘I can see a bird in it from here,’ said Pooh. ‘Or is it a fish?’

‘You ought to see that bird from here,’ said Rabbit. ‘Unless it’s a fish.’

‘It isn’t a fish, it’s a bird,’ said Piglet.

‘So it is,’ said Rabbit.

‘Is it a starling or a blackbird?’ said Pooh.

‘That’s the whole question,’ said Rabbit. ‘Is it a blackbird or a starling?’

And then at last Kanga did turn her head to look. And the moment that her head was turned, Rabbit said in a loud voice ‘In you go, Roo!’ and in jumped Piglet into Kanga’s pocket, and off scampered Rabbit, with Roo in his paws, as fast as he could.

‘Why, where’s Rabbit?’ said Kanga, turning round again. ‘Are you all right, Roo, dear?’

Piglet made a squeaky Roo-noise from the bottom of Kanga’s pocket.

‘Rabbit had to go away,’ said Pooh. ‘I think he thought of something he had to go and see about suddenly.’

‘And Piglet?’

‘I think Piglet thought of something at the same time. Suddenly.’

‘Well, we must be getting home,’ said Kanga. ‘Good-bye, Pooh.’ And in three large jumps she was gone.

Pooh looked after her as she went.

‘I wish I could jump like that,’ he thought. ‘Some can and some can’t. That’s how it is.’

But there were moments when Piglet wished that Kanga couldn’t. Often, when he had had a long walk home through the Forest, he had wished that he were a bird; but now he thought jerkily to himself at the bottom of Kanga’s pocket,

‘If thisis flying Ishall neverreally taketo it’

And as he went up in the air he said, ‘ Ooooooo! ’ and as he came down he said ‘ Ow! ’ And he was saying, ‘ Ooooooo-ow, Ooooooo-ow, Ooooooo-ow ’ all the way to Kanga’s house.

Of course as soon as Kanga unbuttoned her pocket, she saw what had happened. Just for a moment, she thought she was frightened, and then she knew she wasn’t; for she felt sure that Christopher Robin would never let any harm happen to Roo. So she said to herself, ‘If they are having a joke with me, I will have a joke with them.’

‘Now then, Roo, dear,’ she said, as she took Piglet out of her pocket, ‘Bed-time.’

‘ Aha! ’ said Piglet, as well as he could after his Terrifying Journey. But it wasn’t a very good ‘ Aha! ’ and Kanga didn’t seem to understand what it meant.

‘Bath first,’ said Kanga in a cheerful voice.

‘ Aha! ’ said Piglet again, looking round anxiously for the others. But the others weren’t there. Rabbit was playing with Baby Roo in his own house, and feeling more fond of him every minute, and Pooh, who had decided to be a Kanga, was still at the sandy place on the top of the Forest, practising jumps.

‘I am not at all sure,’ said Kanga in a thoughtful voice, ‘that it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a cold bath this evening. Would you like that, Roo, dear?’

Piglet, who had never been really fond of baths, shuddered a long indignant shudder, and said in as brave a voice as he could:

‘Kanga, I see that the time has come to spleak painly.’

‘Funny little Roo,’ said Kanga, as she got the bath-water ready.

‘I am not Roo,’ said Piglet loudly. ‘I am Piglet!’

‘Yes, dear, yes,’ said Kanga soothingly. ‘And imitating Piglet’s voice too! So clever of him,’ she went on, as she took a large bar of yellow soap out of the cupboard. ‘What will he be doing next?’

‘Can’t you see? ’ shouted Piglet. ‘Haven’t you got eyes ? Look at me!’

‘I am looking, Roo, dear,’ said Kanga rather severely. ‘And you know what I told you yesterday about making faces. If you go on making faces like Piglet’s, you will grow up to look like Piglet – and then think how sorry you will be. Now then, into the bath, and don’t let me have to speak to you about it again.’

Before he knew where he was, Piglet was in the bath, and Kanga was scrubbing him firmly with a large lathery flannel.

‘ Ow !’ cried Piglet. ‘Let me out! I’m Piglet!’

‘Don’t open the mouth, dear, or the soap goes in,’ said Kanga. ‘There! What did I tell you?’

‘You – you – you did it on purpose,’ spluttered Piglet, as soon as he could speak again … and then accidentally had another mouthful of lathery flannel.

‘That’s right, dear, don’t say anything,’ said Kanga, and in another minute Piglet was out of the bath, and being rubbed dry with a towel.

‘Now,’ said Kanga, ‘there’s your medicine, and then bed.’

‘W-w-what medicine?’ said Piglet.

‘To make you grow big and strong, dear. You don’t want to grow up small and weak like Piglet, do you? Well, then!’

At that moment there was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ said Kanga, and in came Christopher Robin.

‘Christopher Robin, Christopher Robin!’ cried Piglet. ‘Tell Kanga who I am! She keeps saying I’m Roo. I’m not Roo, am I?’