“He saw me,” said Pooh.
Rabbit sat down on the ground next to Pooh and, feeling much less important like that, stood up again.
“What it all comes to is this,” he said. “ What does Christopher Robin do in the morning nowadays? ”
“What sort of thing?”
“Well, can you tell me anything you’ve seen him do in the morning? These last few days.”
“Yes,” said Pooh. “We had breakfast together yesterday. By the Pine Trees. I’d made up a little basket, just a little, fair-sized basket, an ordinary biggish sort of basket, full of—”
“Yes, yes,” said Rabbit, “but I mean later than that. Have you seen him between eleven and twelve?”
“Well,” said Pooh, “at eleven o’clock—at eleven o’clock—well, at eleven o’clock, you see, I generally get home about then. Because I have One or Two Things to Do.”
“Quarter past eleven, then?”
“Well—” said Pooh.
“Half past.”
“Yes,” said Pooh. “At half past—or perhaps later—I might see him.”
And now that he did think of it, he began to remember that he hadn’t seen Christopher Robin about so much lately. Not in the mornings. Afternoons, yes; evenings, yes; before breakfast, yes; just after breakfast, yes. And then, perhaps, “See you again, Pooh,” and off he’d go.
“That’s just it,” said Rabbit. “Where?”
“Perhaps he’s looking for something.”
“What?” asked Rabbit.