The Best Bear in All the World

by Jeanne Willis

  The only problem with Pooh leading the way was that he didn’t know where he was going. He did in winter, but now that the bluebells were clumping and the ferns were unfurling, the old, familiar pathways had taken a completely different turn.

  “Are we lost?” said Rabbit.

  “No,” said Pooh, “I know exactly where we aren’t.”

  “Is . . . is it exactly the kind of place we might find Another Donkey?” worried Piglet.

  “It might be,” said Pooh, but seeing the anxious look on Piglet’s face he said, “Then again, it might not. You never can tell with donkeys.”

  Piglet was so glad that it might not be, he shouted, “Hooray!” but then, to his great dismay, he saw a shadowy Something that looked suspiciously like Another Donkey walking towards them through the trees.

  “Help! It’s Him!” squeaked Piglet. “There he is! Help!”

  And Pooh said, “Well spotted, Piglet!” But as it came closer, he saw how miserable it looked and realised it wasn’t Another Donkey at all.

  “It’s all right, Piglet. It’s only Eeyore,” said Pooh.

  “Well, pardon me for being such a disappointment,” said Eeyore. “That wasn’t quite the warm greeting I was hoping for. But I’ve had worse.”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Pooh.

  “Looking for you,” said Eeyore. “You said you wouldn’t be long but when you were, I thought something terrible had happened, like it always does, when all along you were on a jolly jaunt with your friends, never mind my thistles!”

  “Who is minding your thistles, Eeyore dear?” asked Kanga. “It wouldn’t do to turn your back on them with Another Donkey about.”

  “Tigger is minding them,” said Eeyore, “He was about to go fishing in the pond but when I gave him my sad tale . . .”

  “Your tail does look rather sad,” agreed Pooh. “Which is what comes of giving it to Tigger.”

  Eeyore rolled his eyes.

  “I didn’t give Tigger my tail. I gave him my sorry story and Tigger said if I had to go and find you, he would mind my thistles because that’s what Tiggers do best.”

  “But what if two more donkeys come along?”said Piglet.

  That made Eeyore gloomier than ever, because he knew a thing or two about donkeys and he doubted that even Tigger could bounce three of them.

  “I haven’t seen Another Donkey since this morning!” he cried. “Now I know why! He’s gone to tell his friends about my thistles. They’ll be eating them as we speak.”

  “If we hurry and ask them to save you some, I’m sure they’ll listen,” said Kanga.

  Eeyore shook his head sadly. “Donkeys never listen.”

  Just as all hope of saving Eeyore’s thistles seemed to be lost, Pooh had a Good Idea.

  “Let’s ask Owl what to do,” he said.

  Eeyore swivelled one ear and gazed at him mournfully.

  “What did you say, Pooh? I wasn’t listening.”

  So Pooh said it again and as no one had a better idea, off they all went to see Owl.

  Owl was polishing his teapot in readiness for some light refreshment when there was a knock at his door. He was surprised, as he wasn’t expecting guests, and had only laid a place for one.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  “Lots of us,” said Pooh.

  Owl opened his door and when he saw how many of them there were, he asked if whatever they wanted could wait until he’d finished his Afternoon Tea.

  By now, Pooh was feeling rather rumbly and hearing the words “Afternoon Tea” he suggested that Owl invited everybody in to help him finish it.

  “I would do,” said Owl. “But I don’t have the requisite amount of crockery.”

  “Meaning what?” asked Pooh.

  “I haven’t got enough plates,” said Owl, to which Pooh replied that Everyone was perfectly happy to share, unlike a certain Someone who was after Eeyore’s thistles, which was why they had come to see him.

  “In that case, you had better come in,” said Owl.

  Owl’s table was very grand but by the time Pooh, Piglet, Rabbit, Kanga, and Eeyore had sat down, there were no chairs for Rabbit’s friends and relations, so they made themselves at home under the table and talked among themselves.

  “Given that it’s Eeyore’s problem, I will address him,” said Owl, hoping to speed things up.

  “Eeyore doesn’t need addressing, Owl,” said Pooh. “We know where he lives.”

  “Yet you hardly ever visit,” complained Eeyore.

  Owl, who was rather wishing he’d pretended he wasn’t in, explained that by addressing Eeyore, he simply wanted to ask him what was wrong.

  “Thank you for caring, Owl,” said Eeyore. “But I have such a long list of What Is Wrong, I don’t know where to start . . .”

  “There’s Another Donkey,” said Pooh, in case Eeyore didn’t know when to stop.

  “Possibly three,” added Piglet.

  Owl shut his eyes and counted to ten while he thought of a sensible thing to ask.

  “It would help with my enquiries,” he said, “if someone could tell me what the animal in question looked like.”

  “Show him, Pooh!” said Piglet.

  Pooh waited until Piglet had shut his eyes and pulled the face of Another Donkey. Owl almost fell off his chair, but after Kanga had helped him back up, he said: “Excuse me for stating the obvious, but that looks like Eeyore, only smiling.”

  “Which Eeyore never does,” said Pooh, “so it must be Another Donkey.”

  Owl thought about this while Kanga poured the tea, saying things like “Not necessarily so!” and “What’s the likelihood?”, then he turned to Eeyore and said: “Is it an indisputable fact that your countenance is always one of gloom?”

  Eeyore stared at him blankly.

  “Do you ever smile?” said Owl.

  Eeyore thought hard and then he remembered.

  “I might have done this morning when I found a new patch of thistles, but when I went to eat them, I saw Another Donkey in the pond.”

  “What was it doing there?” asked Owl.

  “Looking far too pleased for my liking!” said Eeyore.

  Owl nodded knowingly.

  “I put it to you, my friend,” he said, “that what you saw was not Another Donkey, but your own reflection.”

  “Ah,” said Pooh, who often did his stoutness exercises in front of a mirror. Eeyore looked pitifully at Owl, then Piglet, then Pooh.

  “If only that was true . . .” he said, “but I know my own reflection when I see it and what I saw looked like Another Donkey altogether.”

  “If you don’t believe me, try looking at yourself in the teapot,” said Owl, giving it an extra polish.

  “Is it a Party Game?” said Eeyore. “Only I’m not in the mood.”

  Owl put the teapot in front of him.

  “Oh well, if you insist,” grumbled Eeyore.

  He glanced at his face in the shiny surface.

  “That’s me all right,” he said. “I’d know that sad expression anywhere.”

  “Look closer,” said Owl.

  This time when Eeyore looked, the round teapot made his face look so funny, he broke into a big smile, which made Piglet gasp and even Owl flapped his wings nervously.

  “See?” he cried. “There’s Another Donkey! It’s following me!”

  “It’s you, dear!” said Kanga. “That’s how you look when you’re happy.”

  “Is it?” said Eeyore.

  He leaned towards the teapot and smiled again just to make sure.

  “And it was just my own reflection in the pond?”

  Everybody nodded and seeing that it was him after all, Eeyore smiled and smiled and he was still smiling when Pooh left to tell Tigger that he could stop minding the thistles, becau
se there never was Another Donkey like Eeyore.

  SUMMER

  in which Pooh dreams of the Sauce of the Nile

  BY

  KATE SAUNDERS

  ONE VERY SUNNY MORNING, POOH AND PIGLET were sitting outside Pooh’s house in a warm patch of shade.

  “I wonder,” said Pooh, “if Africa is as hot as this?”

  Piglet was idly sorting his haycorns into piles of small, medium, and large. The heat made his head feel pleasantly fuzzy. “What’s that, Pooh?”

  “I was just thinking about Africa,” said Pooh. “In particular, the Sauce of the Nile.”

  Piglet was puzzled. “The what?”

  Pooh wasn’t exactly sure. He rested his paws on his knees, which was a good thinking position, and was quiet for such a long time that a large white butterfly settled on one of his ears for a rest.

  “Well, Piglet,” he said at last, “Christopher Robin read me a bit of his book about the Nile last night. It’s a very long river in Africa, and some explorers went there to look for the Sauce.”

  “Oh,” said Piglet. “Did they find it?”

  “I think so,” said Pooh. “I was very sleepy when Christopher Robin read that bit.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “I was asleep by then,” said Pooh. “But Christopher Robin says all rivers have a Sauce. He says explorers follow rivers right back to where they start—and they know it’s the start because there’s the Sauce. It might be applesauce.”

  Piglet was now very confused. “In a jug, Pooh?”

  “I expect so,” said Pooh. “A jug, or perhaps a bowl.”

  “Oh,” said Piglet politely. The sun was getting warmer every minute, the air was filled with the drowsy humming of insects, and he felt too hot and lazy to bother about sauce.

  “I know this isn’t Africa,” Pooh went on. “But there IS a river here, Piglet—and if there’s a river, that makes me feel there must be Sauce. Don’t you feel it too?”

  Piglet didn’t, but said, “Where do you think it might be, Pooh?”

  “It’s quite simple,” said Pooh, standing up and licking a stray smear of honey off one paw. “We’ll go to the river to find out where it’s coming from, and when we find the Sauce, we can eat it.”

  Piglet, who was quite happy where he was, said, “Yes, we must do that one day.”

  But the idea had stuck in Pooh’s brain and wouldn’t go away. “We’ll take plenty of supplies for the journey,” he went on, as if Piglet hadn’t said anything. “I’ll pack a jar of honey.”

  “I suppose I could take a few of my haycorns,” Piglet said, cheering up—for there was something summery and holiday-ish about setting off for an adventure on a bright morning.

  The Forest was filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of a hot summer’s day —there were canopies of green leaves, dazzling in the sunlight, prickly bushes of wild roses that hummed with bees, and spiderwebs covered with glittering silver dew.

  They had only been walking for a short while when, along the woodland path, came Rabbit carrying a shopping basket over one arm.

  “Hullo, Rabbit,” said Pooh.

  “Hullo, Pooh and Piglet,” said Rabbit. “Where are you two off to?”

  “We’re looking for the Sauce of the river,” Piglet explained. “Which is like the Sauce they found in the Nile.”

  “Oh, that,” said Rabbit, who never liked admitting he didn’t know something.

  “Have you ever seen it, Rabbit?” asked Pooh.

  “Hundreds of times,” said Rabbit carelessly. “I’d come with you, but you’ll never get there before nightfall. And I don’t fancy being lost in a dark forest full of angry Heffalumps.”

  The word “Heffalumps” struck terror into Piglet, though he tried to look brave and don’t-carish. “Oh . . . r-really?” he squeaked, “Why are they angry?”

  Rabbit shrugged. “Probably because you dug that trap for them.” He liked it even less when people asked questions about things he’d made up to hide not knowing.

  “Well now,” Pooh said thoughtfully, “Christopher Robin did mention that there were Heffalumps in Africa . . . perhaps they hang about near the Sauce of every river. If we meet one, we’ll just explain that we didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Hmm, yes, I suppose you could try that,” said Rabbit. “I suppose you might meet one who isn’t as angry as the others. Personally, I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “Oh, help!” gasped Piglet, not even pretending to be brave anymore.

  “Anyway, I must be getting along,” said Rabbit. “Good morning.”

  And he disappeared into the darkest part of the Forest, where the leaves were thickest.

  “Pooh,” quavered Piglet, “I’ve just remembered something I forgot to do and I can only do it if I go home.”

  “No, Piglet,” Pooh said firmly. “If Rabbit’s seen the Sauce, that means we must be getting closer.”

  “All right,” said Piglet in a wobbly voice, not really feeling all right at all.

  They began walking again, along the winding path that went through the Six Pine Trees towards the river.

  “Pooh,” said Piglet, after a long silence, “I’m worried that if we meet a Heffalump, we won’t have time to explain anything.”

  Pooh stopped walking and rubbed his head with his paw, which was a sign that he was thinking particularly hard.

  “We’ll probably hear it rustling in the bushes before it jumps out at us,” he said slowly. “And that would be the time to shout something at it.”

  “But Pooh,” Piglet squeaked, “I might be too scared to shout!” A Heffalump rustling in the bushes was a terrible thing to imagine, and Piglet was starting to wish he’d never come on this dangerous expedition in the first place.

  “Leave it to me,” said Pooh. “If I hear any rustling, I’ll shout something like, ‘Stop! Pooh and Piglet didn’t mean any harm with the Heffalump trap!’”

  Piglet was doubtful. “What if it doesn’t listen?”

  “Hmm,” said Pooh. “Maybe we should shout something before we hear rustling—I’ll think of something that sounds polite.” He began stomping along the path again, and Piglet trotted beside him, thinking that it was very dark under the pine trees and a polite shout would be better than nothing.

  “I know,” said Pooh. “We should talk very loudly about how much we like Heffalumps. They won’t attack us if we’re saying nice things about them.” In a louder voice, he said, “Oh I do like Heffalumps! Aren’t they kind, Piglet? Don’t you think Heffalumps are handsome?”

  Pooh marched along the path, shouting out nice things about Heffalumps, and Piglet helped by sometimes shouting, “Yes!” and in a very short time they came out of the deep shade of the pine trees into a sunlit clearing.

  “It worked,” Pooh said, with great satisfaction. “Not a Heffalump in sight!”

  “Well done, Pooh,” said Piglet. They only had to walk a little farther and there was the river—which was so slow and sleepy in the heat that Pooh and Piglet had to stare at it for a few minutes to work out which way it was flowing. When they had decided, they set off along the bank towards the Sauce.

  All of a sudden they heard splashing and shrieking, and when they turned round a bend in the stream, they found Kanga and Roo. Kanga was sitting on the bank, watching Roo while he played in the shallow water.

  “Hooray, it’s Pooh and Piglet!” shouted Roo. “Look at me splashing, Pooh! Look at the big splashes I make when I jump, Piglet!”

  “Try to stay out of the mud, dear,” said Kanga. “Hullo, you two; I was just unpacking my picnic basket.”

  The words “picnic” and “basket” reminded Pooh that it was a long time since breakfast. He said, “Hullo, Kanga,” and went over to look at the things she was taking out of her big basket. There was a red-and-white cloth to spread on the groun
d, some sandwiches wrapped in paper, a little pot of Roo-food and several interesting jars that made Pooh think about lunch.

  Kanga saw that Pooh was looming over her in an Interested way, and kindly said, “Why don’t you join us?”

  “Thank you, Kanga,” said Pooh. “I was hoping to have the Sauce for lunch, but it can wait; it might even be nicer at teatime.”

  “What sauce is that, dear?” Kanga asked.

  Pooh and Piglet sat down beside her and explained about the Sauce of the Nile. And while they were explaining, Pooh ate his jar of honey and Kanga’s tin of condensed milk, and Piglet ate all his haycorns. It was very pleasant to sit in the shade, watching the lazy progress of the river, and Piglet began to think that the journey to the Sauce could be put off until another day when it wasn’t so hot.

  But Kanga said, “I’d like to see this sauce. If it’s apple sauce, it’ll do very nicely for Roo’s tea.”

  “We don’t know what sort it is,” said Piglet. “It might be the Wrong Sort.”

  Kanga didn’t hear him because she had noticed that Roo was playing with his food and keeping it all in his mouth instead of swallowing it, until his cheeks were puffed out. “Do stop that, dear.”

  “Mmmm!” said Roo. He swallowed his mouthful of food in a hurry, and said, “What about Tigger?”

  “Oh, I haven’t forgotten Tigger,” said Kanga. “I just wanted to save our lunch from too much bouncing.”

  She took from her basket a large bottle of Roo’s Extract of Malt (which had turned out to be what Tiggers like to eat), and called out, “Tigger, dear . . . lunchtime!”