“Which makes it look like a bothering sort of day,” thought Pooh, as he stumped along.
The next moment the day became very bothering indeed, because Pooh was so busy not looking where he was going that he stepped on a piece of the Forest which had been left out by mistake; and he only just had time to think to himself: “I’m flying. What Owl does. I wonder how you stop—” when he stopped.
Bump!
“Ow!” squeaked something.
“That’s funny,” thought Pooh. “I said ‘Ow!’ without really oo’ing.”
“Help!” said a small, high voice.
“That’s me again,” thought Pooh. “I’ve had an Accident, and fallen down a well, and my voice has gone all squeaky and works before I’m ready for it, because I’ve done something to myself inside. Bother!”
“Help—help!”
“There you are! I say things when I’m not trying. So it must be a very bad Accident.” And then he thought that perhaps when he did try to say things he wouldn’t be able to; so, to make sure, he said loudly: “A Very Bad Accident to Pooh Bear.”
“Pooh!” squeaked the voice.
“It’s Piglet!” cried Pooh eagerly. “Where are you?”
“Underneath,” said Piglet in an underneath sort of way.
“Underneath what?”
“You,” squeaked Piglet. “Get up!”
“Oh!” said Pooh, and scrambled up as quickly as he could. “Did I fall on you, Piglet?”
“You fell on me,” said Piglet, feeling himself all over.