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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One - in which Christopher Robin returns

  Chapter Two - in which Owl does a crossword, and a Spelling Bee is held

  Chapter Three - in which Rabbit organizes almost everything

  Chapter Four - in which it stops raining for ever, and something slinky comes ...

  Chapter Five - in which Pooh goes in search of honey

  Chapter Six - in which Owl becomes an author, and then unbecomes one

  Chapter Seven - in which Lottie starts an Academy, and everybody learns something

  Chapter Eight - in which we are introduced to the game of cricket

  Chapter Nine - in which Tigger dreams of Africa

  Chapter Ten - in which a Harvest Festival is held in the Forest and Christopher ...

  IN THE TRADITION OF A. A. MILNE & ERNEST H. SHEPARD

  Dutton Children’s Books

  AN IMPRINT OF PENGUIN GROUP [USA] INC.

  Dutton Children’s Books

  A DIVISION OF PENGUIN YOUNG READERS GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R oRL, England

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of

  the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text by David Benedictus © 2009 by Trustees of the Pooh Properties

  Illustrations by Mark Burgess copyright © 2009 by Trustees of the Pooh Properties

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or

  by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage

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  except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written

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  CIP DATA AVAILABLE.

  Published in the United States by Dutton Children’s Books,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  www.penguin.com/youngreaders

  Simultaneously published in Great Britain 2009

  by Egmont Books Limited, London

  eISBN : 978-1-101-14949-2

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Dedication

  You gave us Christopher Robin and Pooh

  And a forest of shadows and streams,

  And the whole world smiled with you, as you

  Offered us your dreams.

  I took up the offer and page upon page

  And line upon fanciful line,

  I tried to show in a different age

  Your dreams are mine.

  Exposition

  Pooh and piglet, Christopher Robin and Eeyore were last seen in the Forest—oh, can it really be eighty years ago? But dreams have a logic of their own and it is as if the eighty years have passed in a day.

  Looking over my shoulder, Pooh says:“Eighty is a good number really but it could just as well be eighty weeks or days or minutes as years,” and I say: “Let’s call it eighty seconds, and then it’ll be as though no time has passed at all.”

  Piglet says: “I tried to count to eighty once, but when I got to thirty-seven the numbers started jumping out at me and turning cartwheels, especially thesixesandnines.”

  “They do that when you’re least expecting it,” says Pooh.

  “But are you really going to write us new adventures?” Christopher Robin asks. “Because we rather liked the old ones.”

  “I didn’t like the ones with the Heffalumps in them,” adds Piglet, shuddering.

  “And can they end with a little smackerel of something?” asks Pooh, who may have put on a few ounces in eighty years.

  “He’ll get it wrong,”says Eeyore,“see if he doesn’t. What does he know about donkeys?”

  Of course Eeyore is right, because I don’t know; I can only guess. But guessing can be fun, too. And if occasionally I think I have guessed right, I shall reward myself with a chocolate biscuit, one of those with chocolate on one side only so you don’t get sticky fingers and leave marks on the paper, and if sometimes I am afraid that I have guessed wrong, I shall just have to go without.

  “We’ll know,” says Christopher Robin. “We’ll help you get it right,if we can.”And Pooh and Piglet smile and nod their heads, but Eeyore says: “Not that you are likely to. Nobody ever does.”

  D.B.

  With acknowledgments to E. H. Shepard, original illustrator of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories.

  The publisher would like to thank

  the Trustees of the Pooh Properties Trust and especially

  Michael Brown and Peter Janson-Smith who have

  long striven to make this book possible and who

  have made invaluable suggestions and contributions

  at all stages of its development, and also

  Janice Swanson of Curtis Brown whose advice

  and patience throughout have smoothed the way

  and been of the greatest benefit to all concerned.

  Chapter One

  in which Christopher Robin returns

  WHO STARTED IT? Nobody knew. One moment there was the usual Forest babble: the wind in the trees, the crow of a cock, the cheerful water in the streams. Then came the Rumour: Christopher Robin is back!

  Owl said he heard it from Rabbit, and Rabbit said he heard it from Piglet, and Piglet said he just sort of heard it, and Kanga said why not ask Winnie the Pooh? And since that seemed like a Very Encouraging Idea on such a sunny morning,off Piglet trotted, arriving in time to find Pooh anxiously counting his pots of honey.

  “Isn’t it odd?” said Pooh.

  “Isn’t what odd?”

  Pooh rubbed his nose with his paw. “I wish they would sit still. They shuffle around when they think I’m not looking. A moment ago there were eleven and now there are only ten. It is odd, isn’t it, Piglet?”

  “It’s even,” said Piglet, “if it’s ten, that is. And if it isn’t,itisn’t.”Hearing himself saying this, Piglet thought that it didn’t sound quite right, but Pooh was still counting, moving the pots from one corner of the table to the other and back again.

  “Bother,”said Pooh.“Christopher Robin would know if he was here. He was good at counting. He always made things
come out the same way twice and that’s what good counting is.”

  “But Pooh . . .” Piglet began, the tip of his nose growing pink with excitement.

  “On the other hand it’s not easy to count things when they won’t stay still. Like snowflakes and stars.”

  “But Pooh . . .” And if Piglet’s nose was pink before, it was scarlet now.

  “I’ve made up a hum about it. Would you like to hear it, Piglet?”

  Piglet was about to say that hums were splendid things, and Pooh’s hums were the best there were, but Rumours com efirst; then he thought what a nice feeling it was to have a Big Piece of News and to be about to Pass It On; then he remembered the hum which Pooh had made up about him, Piglet, and how it had had seven verses, which was more verses than a hum had ever had since time began, and that they were all about him, and so he said:“Ooh, yes, Pooh, please, ”and Pooh glowed a little because a hum is all very well as far as it goes,and very well indeed when it goes for seven verses, but it isn’t a Real Hum until it’s been tried out on somebody, and while honey is always welcome, it’s welcomest of all directly after a hum.

  This is the hum which Pooh hummed to Piglet on the day which started like any other day and became a very special day indeed.

  If you want to count your honey,

  You must put it in a row,

  In the sun if it is sunny,

  If it’s snowy in the snow.

  And you’ll know when you have counted

  How much honey you have got.

  Yes, you’ll know what the amount is

  And so therefore what it’s not.

  “And I think it’s eleven,” added Pooh, “which is an excellent number of pots for a Thursday, though twelve would be even better.”

  “Pooh, ” said Piglet quickly, in case there was a third verse on the way which would be nice, but time-consuming, “I have a Very Important Question to ask you.”

  “The answer is Yes,” said Pooh. “It is time for a little something.”

  “But, Pooh,” said Piglet, the tip of his nose by now quite crims on with anxiety and frustration, “the question is not about little somethings but big somethings. It’s about Christopher Robin.”

  Pooh, who had just put his paw into the tenth pot of honey, left it there ,just to be on the safe side, and asked: “What about Christopher Robin?”

  “The Rumour, Pooh. Do you suppose he has come back?”

  Eeyore, the grey donkey, was standing at the edge of the Hundred Acre Wood, staring at a patch of thistles. He had been saving them for a Rainy Day and was beginning to wonder whether it would ever rain again and whether, by the time it did, there would be any juice left in them, when Pooh and Piglet came by.

  “Hallo, little Piglet,” said Eeyore. “Hallo, Pooh. And what are you doing around here?”

  “We came to see you, Eeyore,” said Pooh.

  “A quiet day, was it, Pooh? An if-we-haven’t-anything-better-to-do sort of day? How very thoughtful.”

  Piglet wondered how it was that every conversation with Eeyore seemed to go wrong.

  “Time hanging heavy, was it, Piglet? And, Pooh, I would thank you not to stand on those thistles.”

  “Which ones would you like me to stand on?” asked Pooh.

  “But, Eeyore,” squeaked Piglet, “it’s C-C-C-”

  “Have you swallowed something, little Piglet? Not a thistle, I trust?”

  “It’s Christopher Robin,” said Pooh. “He’s coming back.”

  While Pooh was talking, Eeyore went rather still. Only his tail moved, brushing away an imaginary fly.

  “Well,” he said, rather huskily, then paused. “Well. Christopher Robin...That is to say...heretofore...” he blinked quickly several times. “Christopher Robin coming back. Well.”

  Finally, the Rumour was confirmed. Owl had flown to Rabbit’s house, and Rabbit had spoken to his Friends and Relations, who had spoken to Smallest-of-All, who thought he had seen Christopher Robin but couldn’t be absolutely certain because sometimes here membered things which turned out not to have happened yet, or ever, or at all. And they asked Tigger what he thought, only he was hopping across Kanga’s carpet avoiding the yellow bits, which could be dangerous, and paid no attention. But Kanga had told Rabbit that it was true, and when Kanga said something was true, then that thing was true. And so, if Pooh and Piglet thought that it was true, and Owl believed that it was true, and Kanga said that it was true, then it really must be true. Mustn’t it?

  So a meeting was convened to pass a Rissolution. The Rissolution was for a Welcum Back Party for Christopher Robin, and Roo got so excited that he fell into the brook once by accident, and twice on purpose, until Kanga told him that if he did it again he would not be allowed to come to the party, b ut would have to go home to bed.

  It was July. The morning of the party dawned warm and sunny and the spinney in the Hundred Acre Wood was looking its finest. There were speckles of light on the ground where the sun had found a way through the branches, and other places where the branches had said No. Kanga found a mossy place and laid a table with her best linen tablecloth, the one with bunches of grapes embroidered around the edges, and Rabbit brought his best willow-pattern teacups, and said that they were Heirlooms, and when Pooh asked Owl in a whisper what an Heirloom was, Owl said that it was a kind of kite.Then Kanga moved one of the teacups so that it was covering the stain where Tigger had spilled a dollop of Roo’s Strengthening Medicine.

  All the animals brought treats for the feast:hazelnuts from the rabbits, and a pot of honey (almost full) from Pooh, and a twist of lemon sherbet from Piglet, the kind that when you put it in the palm of your hand and licked it, the palm of your hand went bright yellow, and jellies of all colours made by Roo and Tigger. There were glasses with coloured straws and homemade lemonade, and squares of decorated paper with everybody’s names on them, and things which you blew and which made a hooting noise when you did, and things which you threw, and balloons, long ones as well as round ones, and splendid crackers.

  But in the very center of the table stood the finest cake you ever saw, baked by Kanga and iced by Roo and Tigger, and there was spindly writing on the icing, except that nobody could make out what it said, not even Owl; and when Pooh asked Roo and Tigger what the writing said, they giggled and ran off to play in the bracken.

  Everyone had been invited to the party, even Eeyore, and Pooh had pushed a special invitation under the door of Christopher Robin’s house. Owl had written it. It said:

  SPESHUL INVITATION

  WELCUM HOME

  CRHISTOPHER ROBIN

  AND WELCUM TO A

  WELCUM HOME PRATY

  DAY: TODAY

  “It says Welcum three times,” Owl explained, “because that’s how pleased we are to see him back.”

  All the animals sat on the ground and waited, but there was a tree stump reserved for Christopher Robin. The jellies were getting rather wobbly in the sun and Roo kept looking at the green jelly which he had made himself with grapes and greengages and which was—or at least had been—shaped like a castle. It was a little along the tablecloth from him and he kept fidgeting to get closer to it, because although he thought the others might like green best he knew that he did. He kept saying to anyone who would listen: “The red ones are the best. They’ve got strawberries in them. The yellow ones are even better, because they’re really lemony.” But he said nothing about the green ones.

  Eeyore was the last of the animals to arrive in the spinney. He turned around a few times and sat down on the tree stump.

  “Jollifications and hey-diddle-diddle,” he said. “Decent of you to wait for me.”

  “But, Eeyore—”said Piglet, and would have said more if Kanga hadn’t frowned and shaken her head at him.

  “I’m sure it’s going to be a lovely party,” said Kanga, “but you’re sitting in Christopher Robin’s place, Eeyore dear.”

  Eeyore unfolded his legs and got slowly back to his feet. “It was quite comfort
able,” he said, “as tree stumps go.I’m sure Christopher Robin will enjoy sitting on it now that I’ve warmed it up for him.”

  Still there was no Christopher Robin.

  Piglet held his cracker up to the light and shook it to see if it rattled. Then, a little sadly, he put it down again.

  “When can we start? Oh, when can we start?”cried Baby Roo. “The red jellies are best everyone. Or the yellow ones. Oh, when can we start?”

  And Kanga said: “Soon, dear, soon, but don’t keep pointing like that. It’s rude.”

  Pooh was staring at his pot of honey and getting drowsy, and wondering if it was still his pot of honey, and whose pot of honey it would be if Christopher Robin didn’t come, and whether one could train bees to make honey straight into pots, because then they could use the combs to brush their hair without it getting sticky. If bees have hair. And maybe he would leave an empty pot out there just in case. And would it get any hotter, and what would happen if it did ...and Pooh’s head sank forward and he uttered a soft sort of Snunt, which is halfway between a grunt and a snore.

  Then, by way of conversation, Owlsaid:“Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Robert?” And although he had told them more than once, more than several times in fact, Kanga said quickly before he could begin: “Best not to tire ourselves. Christopher Robin is sure to be here soon.” And Piglet said:“I expect he had to come a very long way.”

  “How do you know?” Rabbit asked. “How long?”