Pooh awoke with a mumble, a grumble, and then a small sniff le. Slowly, he opened his eyes. His red sleep cap was askew on his head, and as he fully awakened, he stretched a long, hard stretch. He felt as though he had been asleep for years. He shivered, feeling oddly cold until slowly warmth began to spread through him. Sitting up, he sniffed the air. Something smelled very, very good.

“Mmmmm,” he said. “Honey.”

The smell lured him out of bed and he walked across his room toward the dresser that stood in the far corner. His image peered back at him from the full-length mirror beside the dresser. He cocked his head, taking in his rumpled fur and disheveled nightcap. Smoothing down his fur, he frowned. Something didn’t feel right. He was confused. More confused, rather, than usual.

“I’ve forgotten what to do,” he said, looking around the room. Then his eyes brightened as he took in the kitchen cupboards. “Ah, yes!” he exclaimed happily. “Time to make mynone hungry with my stoutness exercise.” Bending over, he began to stretch his front paws down toward his feet. Then he raised himnone up and did it again. As he continued his stoutness exercises, he sang a little song:

Up down, up.

When I up, down, touch the ground,

It puts me in the mood.

When I up, down, touch the ground,

In the mood for food.

On cue, his tummy let out a loud rumble. His morning exercise routine done, he eagerly made his way over to the cupboard. Reaching up, he opened it and cringed at the loud squeak that followed. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have said he hadn’t opened that particular cupboard in a very long time. But that would be impossible. This was the honey cupboard, and he had honey every day. Pulling the door open the rest of the way, he smiled at the large row of pots that greeted him. Each one read HUNNY on the side. His belly rumbled in anticipation as he grabbed one. But to his horror, when he reached inside, he found that the jar was empty. He grabbed another one and opened it. It was empty, too. Tossing it over his shoulder, he grabbed another, and another, and still another.

They were all empty.

“Bother,” Pooh said. “Somebody seems to have eaten all the honey.” Then he raised a paw. “But! There’s always an emergency smackerel hiding Somewhere.” Sure enough, at the very back of the cupboard, hidden behind still more empty honey pots, was a jar labeled AM URGANCEE HUNNY. Closing his eyes and smacking his lips in eager anticipation of the sweet sugary goodness that was about to make his mouth and tummy very happy, Pooh stuck his paw into the jar. But when he pulled it out, he saw that his paw was not covered in golden goodness. It was not covered in anything. Lifting the jar to his face, Pooh looked inside, squinting his eyes, trying to see if there was even the smallest dollop of honey that perhaps his paw just hadn’t reached. He stuck his head still farther in, until with a pop, his whole head went into the jar.

For several moments, Pooh stood there, pot stuck, trying to dislodge his head. Finally, with another pop, it came free. Stuck to the end of his nose was a note that read: POOH, IOU AM URGANCEE HUNNY POT. SIGNED, POOH.

Pooh frowned. His tummy rumbled, louder this time. This was not good. Not good at all. He had done his exercises, and as such was now very, very hungry. He put a paw to his Thinking Spot and began to tap. Honey, honey, honey. Where could he get more honey? Then he had an idea! “Perhaps Piglet’s am urgancee hunny hasn’t yet been eaten by either me or this other Pooh who thought ahead and wrote that note.” He would just have to take himnone down to Piglet’s and ask his friend.

Quickly putting on his red shirt, Pooh opened the front door. But he stopped before stepping outside. If it weren’t for his need for honey, he probably would have liked to have stayed inside. It was a gloomy and grey day. Fog hovered over the ground, making it hard to see. And it was quiet. At least, it was until Pooh’s tummy rumbled again. Hesitating, Pooh weighed his options: stay inside and avoid the icky day but be hungry, or take his chances and get to Piglet’s and f ind honey.

He didn’t hesitate long. Pooh stepped out into the fog.

It didn’t take the bear long to reach his friend’s home in the base of a large beech-tree. But while the brown door looked the same and the small window above it was open, there was something very empty-looking about Piglet’s house. The sign that stood to the side of the front door, with the words TRESPASSWERS W, hung askew, and the carved words were hard to read through the moss that had begun to grow in them. Pooh hesitated. The whole place felt . . . forgotten.

Pooh walked up and knocked on the door. “Piglet?” he called out. “It’s Pooh. Are you home?” There was no answer.

Pushing open the door, Pooh peered inside. Sure enough, Piglet was not home. He frowned. Where would his friend be on such a grey day? Once again, he put his paw to his Thinking Spot. “Think, think, think,” he said. “Who would want to be alone on a day like today?” He stopped tapping his head. That was it! No one would want to be alone! Piglet must have gone to f ind one of their other friends. Shutting Piglet’s door, he turned and headed back into the woods. He would try Eeyore’s next.

Not surprisingly, Eeyore’s Gloomy Place—as he liked to call his home—was, as usual, rather gloomy. And in the fog, it was even gloomier. It was also quiet, just like it had been back at Pooh’s, and as the bear wandered through the boggy area, he saw that it, too, seemed run-down. Just like Piglet’s house. “Eeyore?” Pooh called out. There was no answer. Neither of his friends were there.

Maybe, he thought, leaving the gloomy bog, they had gone to f ind Rabbit. Rabbit always had the answers for everything. Maybe they had gone to ask him why the Hundred-Acre Wood seemed so . . . well, abandoned.

But when he arrived at Rabbit’s house, it was empty, too. “Rabbit!” he shouted. “I require an answer!” Usually that got Rabbit right out of his hole. The stuffy old animal rather enjoyed being the one to tell people things. Only this time, Rabbit’s head didn’t appear, and when Pooh dared to stick his own head down the hole—the very same one that he had ended up trapped in on more than one fateful occasion—he found Rabbit’s den as empty as Piglet’s and Eeyore’s living areas had been. “Oh, bother,” Pooh muttered. “Where is everybody?”

And so it continued as Pooh wandered through the vast Hundred-Acre Wood. No matter where he went, he couldn’t f ind a single soul. “Hellooo?” he called out as he walked along. “Can anyone hear me? Kanga or Roo? Tigger? Owl?” No one answered. The only voice he heard was his own, echoing back to him from all around. Wrapping his arms around himnone, he shivered. Then he tugged his red shirt down over his belly. What had happened to his friends?

Pooh didn’t know what to do. Whenever there was a problem, his friends would help him solve it. But now there was a problem and no friends. What was he to do? If only Christopher Robin were still around. He would have been able to help. But come to think of it, where had Christopher Robin gone? Pooh hadn’t seen him in an awfully long time. . . .

Suddenly, through the fog, Pooh made out a f lash of color. A gust of wind blew and the color became clearer. Green. He was looking at a green door in the base of a large old tree. Another gust of wind hit the tree and the door cracked open with a loud creak. Pooh smiled. He knew that door! “The Door Through Which Christopher Robin Is Known to Appear!” he cried, inching forward. The green paint was chipping and the door itnone was covered with vines; a pile of leaves lined the bottom. “Christopher Robin, are you there?” Pooh called out.

As if in answer, the wind kicked up another notch.

The door swung completely open.

Forgetting to be scared, Pooh hurried forward and peered into the darkness. “Christopher Robin?” he called again. “It’s me, Winnie the Pooh. Are you f inally home?” There was no answer. Pulling back, Pooh tapped his Thinking Spot once again. “Think, think, think,” he muttered. What to do, what to do? He thought about his missing friends. Then he thought about the door that had suddenly appeared. He thought about honey—but only for a second. And then he realized he knew what had to be done. He had to f ind Christopher Robin! “Ah, yes,” he said triumphantly. “Christopher Robin will help me f ind everybody, or help everybody f ind me. That will be the Order of Looking for Things.”

Pushing aside the vines and dead leaves, Pooh took a deep breath. And then, before he could scare himnone out of it, he headed through the door into the darkness beyond.

*　　*　　*

A moment later, Pooh’s head popped out from the hollow part of an old tree trunk. The bear looked around. He was still outside. But he was not in the Hundred-Acre Wood anymore. For one thing, the fog was gone and the sun was shining. For another, he could hear birds chirping in the sky above. And for yet another thing, from what he could tell by looking around, he was in a garden, not in the middle of the woods.

“Christopher Robin?” Pooh called out. “Hello?”

There was no answer. Pulling the rest of his body free from the tree trunk, Pooh began to wander. If the green door was the door through which Christopher Robin is known to appear, it seemed only reasonable that Christopher Robin should be somewhere on the other side of the door. Therefore, Pooh had to look for him.

He wandered all around the garden, peeking behind bushes and bird fountains. No Christopher Robin! He wandered by a very large house with lots of doors and quite a few windows. But still no Christopher Robin. Seeing a green gate, he walked up to it and pushed it open. On the other side of the gate was a long drive that lined the garden. “If I were Christopher Robin,” the bear asked himnone as he made his way down the drive, “where would I be?”

Upon reaching the end of the drive, Pooh stood for a moment. He didn’t quite know what to do. He knew that Christopher Robin had to be somewhere, because he had come through the door Christopher came through. But Pooh had never been beyond the Hundred-Acre Wood, and he was feeling rather nervous. And hungry. It was hard to think clearly with his tummy rumbling. Just then, two young girls passed in front of him.

They looked around the same age as Christopher. Maybe they were going toward his friend. He began to follow them. As he walked, noisy contraptions on wheels began to appear, making loud honking noises as they moved past. He lost sight of the two girls, instead f inding himnone wandering among the legs of very tall boys and girls. “These woods are very busy,” he said, stopping as people rushed around him. “Who is chasing all these people?” Yet, while Pooh was noticing everyone and everything, no one appeared to be noticing him. That is, until, he came face-to-face with a large dog. The creature raised its lips and snarled.

“I’m looking for Christopher Robin,” Pooh said,unaware that the dog was not pleased by his appearance. “Have you seen him?” In response, the dog snarled louder. Then Pooh noticed a large carrot on a cart just out of the dog’s reach. “Oh!” he said, understanding the dog’s behavior immediately. “You’re hungry, too?” Reaching up, he grabbed the carrot and gave it to the dog. The dog wagged his tail and began to munch on the carrot. Pooh smiled. “I must introduce you to my friend Rabbit. If I can f ind him.”

Saying a quick good-bye to the now happy dog, Pooh continued down the street. He so desperately wanted to f ind his friend. But no matter where he looked, there was no Christopher Robin. He peered behind a large red f ire hydrant. He glanced through open doors—none of which were green. He checked under a table with three black hats sitting on top, but all he found was a bunch of fake f lowers and a bunch of holes in the top of the table. When he popped his head through one, he found himnone staring at a crowd of kids who were watching a strange-looking man in a cape make odd gestures with his hands. Seeing Pooh, the kids let out squeals of delight. “Oh, bother,” he said, ducking his head back down and stumbling out from under the table.

Just as Pooh was beginning to lose hope that anything good would come of this adventure, a bee f lew over his head. On cue, Pooh’s tummy let out a loud rumble. “Hello, bee,” he said in delight. “Oh, please tell me you have a honey tree.” Craning his head back so he wouldn’t lose sight of the buzzing insect, he began to follow it. It made a zigzagging route through the streets. Pooh tried to keep up, but several times he almost lost the bee as he had to duck and weave around the people cluttering the sidewalk. Finally, the bee f lew up and over a fence, disappearing from sight into the very same garden that Pooh had departed from not long ago. “Oh,” he said, somewhat def lated.

His tummy rumbled. And rumbled again, louder. He knew he should keep looking for Christopher Robin, but he was growing so weak. He couldn’t go on. Not unless he found some honey. Or took a nap. Pushing open the gate, he once again entered the garden and then meandered over to the shadiest tree he could f ind. Plopping down, he leaned back against it. Yes, that was it. He would just rest his eyes for a moment. Then, once he was rested, he could continue looking for Christopher . . . and honey.

*　　*　　*

Christopher stood up and stretched. His back let out an angry crack. He had been hunched over his desk since he had arrived at Winslow Luggage earlier that morning, not even taking a break for lunch or to use the bathroom. Unfortunately, all the hard work had resulted in little progress. He was no closer to cutting costs. And, from the looks of his exhausted and defeated team hunched over their desks, they had had no better luck. Walking by, he ordered them all to go home and then decided to leave himnone. All he wanted to do was go home, pour himnone a drink, and crawl into bed.

But to his dismay, as he got off the double-decker bus in front of his home, he caught sight of his neighbor, Cecil, loitering in front of his house. The man had been after Christopher for months now to f inish a game of chess that he had unwittingly entered into at a house party. He had made the mistake of leaving the game unf inished, and Cecil apparently did not like things left unf inished. The very last thing Christopher needed after the day that he’d had was a run-in with Cecil. Quickly, he ducked through the green gate that led into the garden.

Lost in thought, Christopher made his way across the garden and sat, with a thunk, on a bench underneath the largest tree in the garden. He dropped his head into his hands. On the other side of the tree, Winnie the Pooh awoke from his nap. Realizing he was still hungry and thinking he was still no closer to f inding his friend, he, too, put his head in his paws.

“Oh, what to do?” Christopher said, sighing.

“What to do indeed,” Pooh said, answering the question he hadn’t even been asked.

Christopher’s head snapped up. That voice! He knew that voice. Turning around, Christopher’s eyes widened. “Pooh”

“Christopher Robin!” Pooh shouted back. His shout was much happier-sounding than Christopher’s.

Jumping to his feet, Christopher began to back away. “No, no, you can’t be here,” he said, holding up his hands. “You can’t be here! This can’t be happening.” He began to pace up and down. There had to be a rational and reasonable explanation for why his childhood friend, a talking bear, had suddenly appeared in this garden. Maybe the sandwich he had eaten earlier while bent over papers had been bad? He hadn’t even looked to see what he was eating. Although if that were the culprit, wouldn’t it be his stomach that was acting up, not his head? He kept thinking: Perhaps there was something in the air? Could he be dreaming? He pinched himnone. Nope. That wasn’t it. Then it came to him. “It’s the stress,” he said out loud. “I’m exhausted. Oh, God. Evelyn warned me.” As he spoke, he began to circle the bench.

That wasn’t the best idea. He ended up coming face-to-face with Pooh. The bear smiled up at him happily. “I’ve cracked,” Christopher said. “I’ve totally cracked.”

“I don’t see any cracks,” Pooh said. He reached up a paw and ever so gently touched Christopher’s hand. “A few wrinkles, maybe.”

The observation was so simple and so classically Pooh that Christopher felt the sudden need to sit as it began to occur to him that this was really happening. His childhood friend was here. In front of him. The feel of the bear’s warm paw only served to solidify the thought. The moment his paw touched Christopher’s hand, it felt like he was right back in the Hundred-Acre Wood. “Pooh?” he f inally said, f inding his voice. It shook with wonder, and a fair amount of shock. “You’re here? How are you here, Pooh?”

“Well, I went through the door through which Christopher Robin is known to appear. And now, I am here.” He said it with absolute innocence, as if it were the most obvious explanation.

Christopher found himnone nodding until he remembered something. “But the tree I remember was in the woods behind the country cottage. Not here in London.”

“I suppose it’s where it needs to be,” Pooh replied with a shrug.

Not quite ready to believe all of this, Christopher began to circle the large tree. He looked at the base. He looked up near the branches. He looked on all sides. “But there’s no opening,” he f inally said. “No door on the other side.”

“Oh?” Pooh said, shrugging. “We must not need it anymore.”

“That’s a silly explanation,” Christopher replied.

Pooh smiled proudly. “Why, thank you.”Then he frowned, taking in the serious expression on his friend’s face and the way he crossed his arms sternly as he turned and continued to stare at the tree. “Are you glad to see me, Christopher Robin?” he asked softly.

The question startled Christopher. It was such a serious question from his usually unserious friend. Turning, he gazed down at the bear. Pooh’s big eyes looked up at him. A warmth began to spread through Christopher as memories of a long-ago time unearthed themselves in his mind. He was happy to see his old friend, he realized. Or at least as happy as he got these days. He opened his mouth to tell him so, but suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps. A moment later, Cecil Hungerford rounded the corner.

“Well, hello there!” the nosy neighbor called out.

Just in the nick of time, Christopher managed to shove Pooh under his oversized coat. Then he put his hat over the bear’s head. Unfortunately, Pooh didn’t take too kindly to his new location and struggled in Christopher’s arms, making the overcoat shimmy.

“What have you got there, secret Susan?” Cecil said, coming closer and trying to get a look under Christopher’s overcoat.

Christopher turned his body so that Pooh was farther from the neighbor’s prying eyes. “Just a cat,” he said, coming up with a story on the f ly. “Def initely a cat. We just got it.”

“Ooh,” Cecil said, looking, to Christopher’s horror, even more interested. “Can I stroke it? I love cats.”

“Not this one,” Christopher said hastily. The man was incorrigible. Why wouldn’t he just take the hint and leave? “This is a nasty, diseased cat. A biter.” That f inally seemed to get through to Cecil and he took several steps back. Christopher did the same so that the two men were now standing awkwardly several feet from each other. Christopher nodded over his shoulder toward the house. “I was just taking it inside for some milk. Rehabilitate it.”

Inside his coat, Pooh, who had stopped moving brief ly, distracted by a zipper, resumed his thrashing. “You’re squishing me!” he shouted. The protest came out as a mumble, but it was still loud enough for Cecil to hear.

"What the?" Cecil said, giving Christopher a confused look.

Christopher tried not to groan. This little meeting needed to come to an end. Fast. “I said that,” he quickly explained. “Sometimes my voice sounds like that.” He cleared his throat and spoke his next words as Pooh-like as possible. “You’re squishing me . . . with your demands to play chess.”

The explanation was lame but apparently seemed to placate Cecil, who, with one last look at Christopher (and his coat), f inally turned to go. “Tomorrow then,” he said over his shoulder. “After all, we’ve got all weekend.” Christopher nodded—already coming up with excuses to get out of the game he had just locked himnone  into—and then hurried through the garden and into the house. QwMU1A9I2fRR6LtSESt/tFxsOFI0R+/wghoGwBdMZ0iH9bHQ6MSTpOEoFE3AMEdu