The House at Pooh Corner - A. A. Milne [28]
In a corner of the room, the table-cloth began to wriggle.
Then it wrapped itself into a ball and rolled across the room.
Then it jumped up and down once or twice, and put out two ears. It rolled across the room again, and unwound itself.
“Pooh,” said Piglet nervously.
“Yes?” said one of the chairs.
“Where are we?”
“I’m not quite sure,” said the chair.
“Are we—are we in Owl’s House?”
“I think so, because we were just going to have tea, and we hadn’t had it.”
“Oh!” said Piglet. “Well, did Owl always have a letter-box in his ceiling?”
“Has he?”
“Yes, look.”
“I can’t,” said Pooh. “I’m face downwards under something, and that, Piglet, is a very bad position for looking at ceilings.”
“Well, he has, Pooh.”
“Perhaps he’s changed it,” said Pooh. “Just for a change.”
There was a disturbance behind the table in the other corner of the room, and Owl was with them again.
“Ah, Piglet,” said Owl, looking very much annoyed, “where’s Pooh?”
“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.
“Well, I had just thought of something,” said Pooh. “It was just a little thing I thought of.” And he began to sing:
I lay on my chest
And I thought it best
To pretend I was having an evening rest;
I lay on my tum
And I tried to hum
But nothing particular seemed to come.
My face was flat
On the floor, and that
Is all very well for an acrobat;
But it doesn’t seem fair
To a Friendly Bear
To stiffen him out with a basket-chair.
And a sort of squch
Which grows and grows
Is not too nice for his poor old nose,
And a sort of squch
Is much too much
For his neck and his mouth
and his ears and such.
“That was all,” said Pooh.
Owl coughed in an unadmiring sort of way, and said that, if Pooh was sure that was all, they could now give their minds to the Problem of Escape.
“Because,” said Owl, “we can’t go out by what used to be the front door. Something’s fallen on it.”
“But how else can you go out?” asked Piglet anxiously.
“That is the Problem, Piglet, to which I am asking Pooh to give his mind.”
Pooh sat on the floor which had once been a wall, and gazed up at the ceiling which had once been another wall, with a front door in it which had once been a front door, and tried to give his mind to it.
“Could you fly up to the letter-box with Piglet on your back?” he asked.
“No,” said Piglet quickly. “He couldn’t.”
Owl explained about the Necessary Dorsal Muscles. He had explained this to Pooh and Christopher Robin once before, and had been waiting ever since for a chance