Of course, getting a talking bear through the streets of London wasn’t exactly easy. As Christopher hurried down the street—briefcase in one hand, Pooh under his other arm—he regretted not taking a cab to the train station. It seemed to Christopher that every person in London was out and about, enjoying the early morning sunshine. He had to duck and weave constantly. Grumbling under his breath, Christopher tried to bring as little attention to himnone as possible.

Pooh, on the other hand, was doing the exact opposite.

“It’s very loud,” Pooh said, squirming. His head swiveled back and forth as he took in the speeding cars, the passing people, and the constant thrum of activity. “And not in a hummy sort of way,” he added as a particularly loud and smelly double-decker bus blew by. “Welcome to London,” Christopher said.

Spotting a man approaching, Pooh waved. “Hello there,” he called out. “Are you on an expotition, too?”

The man did a double take . . . and walked straight into a lamppost.

Wincing, Christopher slammed his hand over Pooh’s mouth and then dove into one of London’s many red phone booths. He plopped the bear onto the ledge that held the booth’s phone and pointed a f inger at his friend. “Look,” he said, his tone serious. “People can’t see you moving and talking.”

“But why?” Pooh asked, looking genuinely confused. Christopher moved and talked to people. It seemed like that was what people in London did.

Christopher sighed. It felt like trying to reason with a toddler. He f lashed back to when Madeline, age two, had constantly asked, “Why?” He had never been able to satisfy her questioning then, and he doubted he would be able to explain himnone to Pooh now. But he had to try. He couldn’t spend the rest of this “expotition,” as Pooh called it, trying to hide the bear from view. “You’re different,” Christopher f inally said. “And people don’t like things that are different.”

“Oh,” Pooh said. “So, I shouldn’t be me?”

“I . . . no . . . I . . .” Christopher stuttered. “No, always be yournone.”

Pooh cocked his head. “This is all very confusing,” the bear said. Then he patted his stomach. “It may be the hunger.”

Christopher nearly laughed out loud. And he probably would have—if he hadn’t been standing in a phone booth trying to reason with a bear and most likely getting strange looks from anyone who happened to pass by and look into the booth. “You’ve just eaten!” he said, exasperated.

“Oh! That’s right,” Pooh said, delighted to know he wasn’t hungry. “I suspect, then, that I ate too much.”

Christopher bit his tongue. They were wasting time. Which, of course, he hated. “Never mind that,” he said. “Listen, for now, just maybe be a less exuberant you.” The bear stared back at him blankly. “Flop. Sag. Go limp,” Christopher said. As he spoke, he demonstrated. He f lopped his head down, made his arms go limp. Then his whole body sagged so that he fell back against the booth’s glass. On the other side, a person walking by jumped at the sound and then gave Christopher—and Pooh—a confused look before picking up the pace and moving on.

If this keeps up , Christopher thought as Pooh attempted to mimic his moves, I’m going to have the whole city of London believing I’ve lost my mind. He looked at Pooh. The bear had f lopped his ears, hunched his shoulders, and gone bowlegged. Yet he still looked more like a real bear than a stuffed toy. And right then, Christopher needed him to look like a toy. Then he had a thought. “I’ve got it!” he cried. “Play nap time.”

“Oh!” Pooh said, clapping his paws in delight. “I love play!” And just like that, Pooh went still. He looked exactly, Christopher thought happily, like a stuffed animal.

“Well done!” Christopher said, scooping him up and throwing him over his shoulder. Opening the phone booth, he stepped back onto the street and headed toward the entrance to Victoria station.

Luckily, they didn’t have to go far, and Pooh managed to make it almost to the train before curiosity got the best of him. Opening one eye ever so slightly, Pooh looked around at the station. It didn’t seem much different from the street. It was just darker and the sound was more muff led. He had started to close his eye when he spotted a balloon vendor. The man was holding a dozen or so brightly colored balloons, hawking them to passersby. Pooh’s eyes shot open. There was nothing he liked more than a bright balloon.

“Oh!” he whispered into Christopher’s ear. “May I please have a travel balloon?”

Christopher hushed his friend. “You don’t need a balloon,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth in such a way that he ended up resembling a bad ventriloquist.

“I know I don’t need one,” Pooh said. “But I would like one. Very, very much.”

Sighing, Christopher made his way toward the balloon vendor. If he had learned anything from being a parent, it was that sometimes saying yes saved everyone a whole lot of trouble. If Pooh was anything like Madeline when she was younger, saying no at this point could very well end in a tantrum of sorts. And in this case, it could end up with Pooh no longer wanting to play “nap time.” That was something Christopher wanted to avoid very much. “One balloon, please,” he said to the vendor.

“Color?” the man asked.

“Red!” Pooh said before Christopher could stop him. Luckily, the vendor’s head was turned, so he didn’t see that it was the bear, not the man, who had answered. Plucking a red balloon from the bunch, he handed it over to Christopher. Quickly, Christopher paid the man and headed toward the ticket counter. On his shoulder, Pooh clutched the balloon string and was back to looking like a stuffed toy (but one that now looked like a very happy and content stuffed toy).

Pleased that he had avoided garnering any unwanted attention, Christopher steadily made his way up to the ticket counter. “A return ticket, please,” he requested, choosing to ignore the odd look the man behind the counter gave him as he placed Pooh, and the balloon, down on the ground so he could get his wallet. The balloon f loated into his face and he batted it away. “To Hartf ield, Sussex,” he added. The balloon then settled back in front of his face. “Can I have some space please?” he hissed down in Pooh’s direction. The balloon drifted a few feet back. Nodding, Christopher f inished paying and took his ticket. Slipping it into his wallet, he glanced at his watch. They had made it.

“Two minutes to spare,” Christopher noted. “Good, yes?”

There was no response.

Christopher’s eyes shot to where Pooh should have been.

The bear—and the red balloon—were gone.

*　　*　　*

Pooh had been enjoying himnone quite thoroughly. Doing as Christopher asked, he had given the man some space and was now wandering through the London train station, taking in the sights. The red balloon drifted lazily above him.

Spotting a young boy sitting in a stroller, Pooh wobbled over to say hello. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated how eager the boy would be to make a new friend. Or rather, take a new friend. The boy had grabbed Pooh, and the balloon, and dragged both into the stroller with him. While Pooh did enjoy getting a lift whenever possible, he was now beginning to get a bit nervous that he might not make it back to Christopher Robin.

“Mine!” the boy shouted as a large trolley of luggage was pushed past.

Pooh squirmed in the boy’s death grip. “Are we going to be friends?” the bear asked. Because the tightening grip on his body was beginning to make him feel like that might not be the case.

Thankfully, just as Pooh was beginning to feel quite suffocated, Christopher rushed over. “He was mine f irst!” Christopher said, grabbing Pooh from the boy’s grasp.

“That is true,” Pooh said happily.

The boy, however, did not seem satisf ied with this reasoning. Tilting back his head, he began to shriek.

Hearing the commotion, the boy’s mother, who had been talking to a luggage porter, turned. Her eyes f litted back and forth between Christopher, who was clutching Pooh tightly to his chest, and her son, who was still screaming, arms reaching out for the bear. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” the mother said. “Did you take my son’s toy?”

Christopher pulled Pooh closer. “You can’t just steal teddy bears from grown men!” he snapped, instantly mortif ied by what he had said. Luckily, just then, a train whistle echoed through the station.

“Last call for boarding!” the conductor called out. “Last call!”

Sidestepping the boy’s mother, who was now rather angry, as well as confused, Christopher hurtled toward the departing train’s platform. The balloon f loated behind him as he raced to catch the train. “You were supposed to be playing nap time,” he muttered to Pooh as he ran.

“It was one of my smaller naps,” Pooh answered. He was dangling upside down from Christopher’s hand. His eyes widened, however, as he spotted a candy stand. Even upside down, the tasty treats looked delicious. As if sensing the bear’s thoughts, Christopher’s grip on Pooh’s leg tightened and he sped up.

A moment later,Christopher threw himnone into a train’s carriage car. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. Behind him, the train doors closed with a bang. Christopher let out a sigh of relief. They had made it! Now he just needed to f ind a club car and keep Pooh hidden until they got out into the countryside.

But when Christopher tried to move forward, he couldn’t. Upon looking over his shoulder, he let out a groan. The blasted balloon was outside of the train door—blowing around uncontrollably!

Noticing the problem at the same time, Pooh let out a shout. “Christopher Robin!” he said, pointing. In response, Christopher reached down and slipped the string off Pooh’s paw. “But my balloon!” Pooh protested, watching it f lutter wildly as the train picked up speed.

“It’s gone now,” Christopher said. “You don’t need it.”

Pooh frowned. “But it did make me very happy,” he said softly. “Didn’t it make you happy?”

Christopher began to walk down the narrow train aisle. “Not really,” he said, too tired to pretend to be the boy he had once been. The man he was now was exhausted. Exhausted and exasperated! He just wanted to get to the country and get Pooh home.

Then his life could go back to normal. W5c3u5lspDq7xkg0q4xcX4harNFFbiavOt3j6SBpTxB+7nokMeXQ8DeEvNGiepjC