“I hope he’s all right,” said Christopher Robin. “I’ve been wondering about him. I expect Piglet’s with him. Do you think they’re all right, Owl?”

“I expect so. You see, at any moment⁠—”

“Do go and see, Owl. Because Pooh hasn’t got very much brain, and he might do something silly, and I do love him so, Owl. Do you see, Owl?”

“That’s all right,” said Owl. “I’ll go. Back directly.” And he flew off.

In a little while he was back again.

“Pooh isn’t there,” he said.

“Not there?”

“Has been there. He’s been sitting on a branch of his tree outside his house with nine pots of honey. But he isn’t there now.”