“Correct me if I am wrong,” he said, “but am I right in supposing that it is a very Blusterous day outside?”
“Very,” said Piglet, who was quietly thawing his ears, and wishing that he was safely back in his own house.
“I thought so,” said Owl. “It was on just such a blusterous day as this that my Uncle Robert, a portrait of whom you see upon the wall on your right, Piglet, while returning in the late forenoon from a—What’s that?”
There was a loud cracking noise.
“Look out!” cried Pooh. “Mind the clock! Out of the way, Piglet! Piglet, I’m falling on you!”
“Help!” cried Piglet.
Pooh’s side of the room was slowly tilting upwards and his chair began sliding down on Piglet’s. The clock slithered gently along the mantelpiece, collecting vases on the way, until they all crashed together on to what had once been the floor, but was now trying to see what it looked like as a wall. Uncle Robert, who was going to be the new hearthrug, and was bringing the rest of his wall with him as carpet, met Piglet’s chair just as Piglet was expecting to leave it, and for a little while it became very difficult to remember which was really the north. Then there was another loud crack … Owl’s room collected itself feverishly … and there was silence.
In a corner of the room, the tablecloth 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?”