Sometimes Winnie- the- Pooh likes a game of some sort when he comes downstairs, and sometimes he likes to sit quietly in front of the fire and listen to a story. This evening—

“What about a story?” said Christopher Robin.

“What about a story?” I said.

“Could you very sweetly tell Winnie- the- Pooh one?”

“I suppose I could,” I said. “What sort of stories does he like?”

“About himself. Because he’s that sort of Bear.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So could you very sweetly?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

So I tried.

Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie- the- Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders.

(“What does ‘under the name’ mean?” asked Christopher Robin.

“It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived under it.”

“Winnie- the- Pooh wasn’t quite sure,” said Christopher Robin.

“Now I am,” said a growly voice.

“Then I will go on,” said I.)

One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak- tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing- noise.

Winnie- the- Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.

First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing- noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing- noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing- noise, somebody’s making a buzzing- noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.”

Then he thought another long time, and said, “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.”

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