“Tiddely pom. . . .”
“Pooh!” shouted Christopher Robin. . . .
The singers on the gate stopped suddenly.
“It’s Christopher Robin!” said Pooh eagerly.
“He’s round by the place where we got all those sticks from,” said Piglet.
“Come on,” said Pooh.
They climbed down their gate and hurried round the corner of the wood, Pooh making welcoming noises all the way.
“Why, here is Eeyore,” said Pooh, when he had finished hugging Christopher Robin, and he nudged Piglet, and Piglet nudged him, and they thought to themselves what a lovely surprise they had got ready.
“Hallo, Eeyore.”
“Same to you, Pooh Bear, and twice on Thursdays,” said Eeyore gloomily.
Before Pooh could say: “Why Thursdays?” Christopher Robin began to explain the sad story of Eeyore’s Lost House. And Pooh and Piglet listened, and their eyes seemed to get bigger and bigger.
“Where did you say it was?” asked Pooh.
“Just here,” said Eeyore.
“Made of sticks?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” said Piglet,
“What?” said Eeyore.
“I just said ‘Oh!’” said Piglet nervously. And so
