was a crackling in the bracken, and Christopher Robin and Eeyore came strolling along together.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if it hailed a good deal tomorrow,” Eeyore was saying. “Blizzards and whatnot. Being fine today doesn’t Mean Anything. It has no sig—what’s that word? Well, it has none of that. It’s just a small piece of weather.”
“There’s Pooh!” said Christopher Robin, who didn’t much mind what it did tomorrow, as long as he was out in it. “Hallo, Pooh!”
“It’s Christopher Robin!” said Piglet. “He’ll know what to do.”
They hurried up to him.
“Oh, Christopher Robin,” began Pooh.
“And Eeyore,” said Eeyore.
“Tigger and Roo are right up the Six Pine Trees, and they can’t get down, and———”
“And I was just saying,” put in Piglet, “that if only Christopher Robin———”
“And Eeyore———”
“If only you were here, then we could think of something to do.”
Christopher Robin looked up at Tigger and Roo, and tried to think of something.
“I thought,” said Piglet earnestly, “that if Eeyore stood at the bottom of the tree, and if Pooh stood on Eeyore’s back, and if I stood on Pooh’s shoulders———”
