“I think so, because we were just going to have tea, and we hadn’t had it.”
“Oh!” said Piglet. “Well, did Owl always have a letterbox in his ceiling?”
“Has he?”
“Yes, look.”
“I can’t,” said Pooh. “I’m face downwards under something, and that, Piglet, is a very bad position for looking at ceilings.”
“Well, he has, Pooh.”
“Perhaps he’s changed it,” said Pooh. “Just for a change.”
There was a disturbance behind the table in the other corner of the room, and Owl was with them again.
“Ah, Piglet,” said Owl, looking very much annoyed; “where’s Pooh?”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Pooh.
Owl turned at his voice, and frowned at as much of Pooh as he could see.
“Pooh,” said Owl severely, “did you do that?”
“No,” said Pooh humbly. “I don’t think so.”
“Then who did?”
“I think it was the wind,” said Piglet. “I think your house has blown down.”
“Oh, is that it? I thought it was Pooh.”
“No,” said Pooh.