special, but otherwise it’s just a corner, and if anybody feels bouncy———”
“I didn’t bounce, I coughed,” said Tigger crossly.
“Bouncy or coffy, it’s all the same at the bottom of the river.”
“Well,” said Rabbit, “all I can say is—well, here’s Christopher Robin, so he can say it.”
Christopher Robin came down from the Forest to the bridge, feeling all sunny and careless, and just as if twice nineteen didn’t matter a bit, as it didn’t on such a happy afternoon, and he thought that if he stood on the bottom rail of the bridge and leant over, and watched the river slipping slowly away beneath him, then he would suddenly know everything that there was to be known, and he would be able to tell Pooh, who wasn’t quite sure about some of it. But when he got to the bridge and saw all the animals there, then he knew that it wasn’t that kind of afternoon, but the other kind, when you wanted to do something.
“It’s like this, Christopher Robin,” began Rabbit. “Tigger———”
“No, I didn’t,” said Tigger.
“Well, anyhow, there I was,” said Eeyore.
“But I don’t think he meant to,” said Pooh.
“He just is bouncy,” said Piglet, “and he can’t help it.”
“Try bouncing me, Tigger,” said Roo eagerly.
