“I’m not quite sure,” said Pooh.
Owl turned at his voice, and frowned at as much of Pooh as he could see.
“Pooh,” said Owl severely, “did you do that?”
“No,” said Pooh humbly. “I don’t think so.”
“Then who did?”
“I think it was the wind,” said Piglet. “I think your house has blown down.”
“Oh, is that it? I thought it was Pooh.”
“No,” said Pooh.
“If it was the wind,” said Owl, considering the matter, “then it wasn’t Pooh’s fault. No blame can be attached to him.” With these kind words he flew up to look at his new ceiling.
“Piglet!” called Pooh in a loud whisper.
Piglet leant down to him.
“Yes, Pooh?”
"What did he say was attached to me?”
“He said he didn’t blame you.”
“Oh! I thought he meant——— Oh, I see.”
“Owl” said Piglet, “come down and help Pooh.”
Owl, who was admiring his letter-box, flew down again. Together they pushed and pulled at the armchair, and in a little while Pooh came out from underneath, and was able to look round him again.
“Well!” said Owl. “This is a nice state of things!”
“What are we going to do, Pooh? Can you think of anything?” asked Piglet.
