“Fourteen, that’s right.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” said Rabbit. “Does it matter?”
“I just like to know,” said Pooh humbly. “So as I can say to myself: ‘I’ve got fourteen pots of honey left.’ Or fifteen, as the case may be. It’s sort of comforting.”
“Well, let’s call it sixteen,” said Rabbit. “What I came to say was: Have you seen Small anywhere about?”
“I don’t think so,” said Pooh. And then, after thinking a little more, he said: “Who is Small?”
“One of my friends-and-relations,” said Rabbit carelessly.
This didn’t help Pooh much, because Rabbit had so many friends-and-relations, and of such different sorts and sizes, that he didn’t know whether he ought to be looking for Small at the top of an oak-tree or in the petal of a buttercup.
“I haven’t seen anybody today,” said Pooh, “not so as to say ‘Hallo, Small,’ to. Did you want him for anything?”
“I don’t want him,” said Rabbit. “But it’s always useful to know where a friend-and-relation is, whether you want him or whether you don't.”
“Oh, I see,”’ said Pooh. “Is he lost?”’
“Well,” said Rabbit, “nobody has seen him for a long time, so I suppose he is. Anyhow,” he went on
