The House at Pooh Corner. A. A. Milne

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      ‘Ow!’ said Tigger.

      He sat down and put his paw in his mouth. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Pooh. ‘Hot!’ mumbled Tigger.

      ‘Your friend,’ said Eeyore, ‘appears to have bitten on a bee.’

      Pooh’s friend stopped shaking his head to get the prickles out, and explained that Tiggers didn’t like thistles.

      ‘Then why bend a perfectly good one?’ asked Eeyore.

      ‘But you said,’ began Pooh, ‘– you said that Tiggers liked everything except honey and haycorns.’

      ‘And thistles,’ said Tigger, who was now running round in circles with his tongue hanging out.

      Pooh looked at him sadly.

      ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked Piglet.

      Piglet knew the answer to that, and he said at once that they must go and see Christopher Robin.

      ‘You’ll find him with Kanga,’ said Eeyore. He came close to Pooh, and said in a loud whisper:

      ‘Could you ask your friend to do his exercises somewhere else? I shall be having lunch directly, and don’t want it bounced on just before I begin. A trifling matter, and fussy of me, but we all have our little ways.’

      Pooh nodded solemnly and called to Tigger.

      ‘Come along and we’ll go and see Kanga. She’s sure to have lots of breakfast for you.’

      Tigger finished his last circle and came up to Pooh and Piglet.

      ‘Hot!’ he explained with a large and friendly smile. ‘Come on!’ and he rushed off.

      Pooh and Piglet walked slowly after him. And as they walked Piglet said nothing, because he couldn’t think of anything, and Pooh said nothing, because he was thinking of a poem. And when he had thought of it he began:

      What shall we do about poor little Tigger?

      If he never eats nothing he’ll never get bigger.

      He doesn’t like honey and haycorns and thistles

      Because of the taste and because of the bristles.

      And all the good things which an animal likes

      Have the wrong sort of swallow or too many spikes.

      ‘He’s quite big enough anyhow,’ said Piglet.

      ‘He isn’t really very big.’

      ‘Well, he seems so.’

      Pooh was thoughtful when he heard this, and then he murmured to himself:

      But whatever his weight in pounds, shillings, and ounces,

      He always seems bigger because of his bounces.

      ‘And that’s the whole poem,’ he said. ‘Do you like it,

      Piglet?’

      ‘All except the shillings,’ said Piglet. ‘I don’t think they ought to be there.’

      ‘They wanted to come in after the pounds,’ explained Pooh, ‘so I let them. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come.’

      ‘Oh, I didn’t know,’ said Piglet.

      Tigger had been bouncing in front of them all this time, turning round every now and then to ask, ‘Is this the way?’ – and now at last they came in sight of Kanga’s house, and there was Christopher Robin. Tigger rushed up to him.

      ‘Oh, there you are, Tigger!’ said Christopher Robin. ‘I knew you’d be somewhere.’

      ‘I’ve been finding things in the Forest,’ said Tigger importantly. ‘I’ve found a pooh and a piglet and an eeyore, but I can’t find any breakfast.’

      Pooh and Piglet came up and hugged Christopher Robin, and explained what had been happening.

      ‘Don’t you know what Tiggers like?’ asked Pooh.

      ‘I expect if I thought very hard I should,’ said Christopher Robin, ‘but I thought Tigger knew.’

      ‘I do,’ said Tigger. ‘Everything there is in the world except honey and haycorns and – what were those hot things called?’

      ‘Thistles.’

      ‘Yes, and those.’

      ‘Oh, well then, Kanga can give you some breakfast.’

      So they went into Kanga’s house, and when Roo had said, ‘Hallo, Pooh,’ and ‘Hallo, Piglet’ once, and ‘Hallo, Tigger’ twice, because he had never said it before and it sounded funny, they told Kanga what they wanted, and Kanga said very kindly, ‘Well, look in my cupboard, Tigger dear, and see what you’d like.’ Because she knew at once that, however big Tigger seemed to be, he wanted as much kindness as Roo.

      ‘Shall I look, too?’ said Pooh, who was beginning to feel a little eleven o’clockish. And he found a small tin of condensed milk, and something seemed to tell him that Tiggers didn’t like this, so he took it into a corner by itself, and went with it to see that nobody interrupted it.