NOW WE ARE SIX

BY A.A. MILNE WITH
DECORATIONS BY ERNEST H. SHEPARD

NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC.

NOW WE ARE SIX, COPYRIGHT, 1927,
BY E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN U.S.A.

TO
ANNE DARLINGTON
NOW SHE IS SEVEN
AND
BECAUSE SHE IS
SO
SPESHAL

NOW WE ARE SIX

INTRODUCTION

When you are reciting poetry, which is a thing we never do, you find sometimes, just as you are beginning, that Uncle John is still telling Aunt Rose that if he can't find his spectacles he won't be able to hear properly, and does she know where they are; and by the time everybody has stopped looking for them, you are at the last verse, and in another minute they will be saying, "Thank-you, thank-you," without really knowing what it was all about. So, next time, you are more careful; and, just before you begin you say, "Er-h'r'm!" very loudly, which means, "Now then, here we are"; and everybody stops talking and looks at you: which is what you want. So then you get in the way of saying it whenever you are asked to recite ... and sometimes it is just as well, and sometimes it isn't.... And by and by you find yourself saying it without thinking. Well, this bit which I am writing now, called Introduction, is really the er-h'r'm of the book, and I have put it in, partly so as not to take you by surprise, and partly because I can't do without it now. There are some very clever writers who say that it is quite easy not to have an er-h'r'm, but I don't agree with them. I think it is much easier not to have all the rest of the book.

What I want to explain in the Introduction is this. We have been nearly three years writing this book. We began it when we were very young ... and now we are six. So, of course, bits of it seem rather baby-ish to us, almost as if they had slipped out of some other book by mistake. On page whatever-it-is there is a thing which is simply three-ish, and when we read it to ourselves just now we said, "Well, well, well," and turned over rather quickly. So we want you to know that the name of the book doesn't mean that this is us being six all the time, but that it is about as far as we've got at present, and we half think of stopping there.

A. A. M.

P.S.—Pooh wants us to say that he thought it was a different book; and he hopes you won't mind, but he walked through it one day, looking for his friend Piglet, and sat down on some of the pages by mistake.

CONTENTS

NOW WE ARE SIX

SOLITUDE

I have a house where I go

When there's too many people,

I have a house where I go

Where no one can be;

I have a house where I go,

Where nobody ever says "No";

Where no one says anything—so

There is no one but me.

KING JOHN'S CHRISTMAS

King John was not a good man—

He had his little ways.

And sometimes no one spoke to him

For days and days and days.

And men who came across him,

When walking in the town,

Gave him a supercilious stare,

Or passed with noses in the air—

And bad King John stood dumbly there,

Blushing beneath his crown.

King John was not a good man,

And no good friends had he.

He stayed in every afternoon...

But no one came to tea.

And, round about December,

The cards upon his shelf

Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,

And fortune in the coming year,

Were never from his near and dear,

But only from himself.

King John was not a good man,

Yet had his hopes and fears.

They'd given him no present now

For years and years and years.

But every year at Christmas,

While minstrels stood about,

Collecting tribute from the young

For all the songs they might have sung,

He stole away upstairs and hung

A hopeful stocking out.

King John was not a good man,

He lived his life aloof;

Alone he thought a message out

While climbing up the roof.

He wrote it down and propped it

Against the chimney stack:

"TO ALL AND SUNDRY—NEAR AND FAR—

F. CHRISTMAS IN PARTICULAR."

And signed it not "Johannes R."

But very humbly, "JACK."

"I want some crackers,

And I want some candy;

I think a box of chocolates

Would come in handy;

I don't mind oranges,

I do like nuts!

And I SHOULD like a pocket-knife

That really cuts.

And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,

Bring me a big, red india-rubber ball!"

King John was not a good man—

He wrote this message out,

And gat him to his room again,

Descending by the spout.

And all that night he lay there,

A prey to hopes and fears.

"I think that's him a-coming now,"

(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)

"He'll bring one present, anyhow—

The first I've had for years."

"Forget about the crackers,

And forget about the candy;

I'm sure a box of chocolates

Would never come in handy;

I don't like oranges,

I don't want nuts,

And I HAVE got a pocket-knife

That almost cuts.

But, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,

Bring me a big, red india-rubber ball!"

King John was not a good man—

Next morning when the sun

Rose up to tell a waiting world

That Christmas had begun,

And people seized their stockings,

And opened them with glee,

And crackers, toys and games appeared,

And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,

King John said grimly: "As I feared,

Nothing again for me!"

"I did want crackers,

And I did want candy;

I know a box of chocolates

Would come in handy;

I do love oranges,

I did want nuts.

I haven't got a pocket-knife—

Not one that cuts.

And, oh! if Father Christmas had loved me at all,

He would have brought a big, red india-rubber ball!"

King John stood by the window,

And frowned to see below

The happy bands of boys and girls

All playing in the snow.

A while he stood there watching,

And envying them all...

When through the window big and red

There hurtled by his royal head,

And bounced and fell upon the bed,

An india-rubber ball!

AND OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,

MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL

FOR BRINGING HIM

A BIG, RED,

INDIA-RUBBER

BALL!

BUSY

I think I am a Muffin Man. I haven't got a bell,

I haven't got the muffin things that muffin people sell.

Perhaps I am a Postman. No, I think I am a Tram.

I'm feeling rather funny and I don't know what I am—

BUT

Round about

And round about

And round about I go—

All round the table,

The table in the nursery—

Round about

And round about

And round about I go;

I think I am a Traveller escaping from a Bear;

I think I am an Elephant,

Behind another Elephant

Behind another Elephant who isn't really there....

SO

Round about

And round about

And round about and round about

And round about

And round about

I go.

I think I am a Ticket Man who's selling tickets—please,

I think I am a Doctor who is visiting a Sneeze;

Perhaps I'm just a Nanny who is walking with a pram

I'm feeling rather funny and I don't know what I am—

BUT

Round about

And round about

And round about I go—

All around the table,

The table in the nursery—

Round about

And round about

And round about I go;

I think I am a Puppy, so I'm hanging out my tongue;

I think I am a Camel who

Is looking for a Camel who

Is looking for a Camel who is looking for its Young....

SO

Round about

And round about

And round about and round about

And round about

And round about

I go.

SNEEZLES

Christopher Robin

Had wheezles

And sneezles,

They bundled him

Into

His bed.

They gave him what goes

With a cold in the nose,

And some more for a cold

In the head.

They wondered

If wheezles

Could turn

Into measles,

If sneezles

Would turn

Into mumps;

They examined his chest

For a rash,

And the rest

Of his body for swellings and lumps.

They sent for some doctors

In sneezles

And wheezles

To tell them what ought

To be done.

All sorts and conditions

Of famous physicians

Came hurrying round

At a run.

They all made a note

Of the state of his throat,

They asked if he suffered from thirst;

They asked if the sneezles

Came after the wheezles,

Or if the first sneezle

Came first.

They said, "If you teazle

A sneezle

Or wheezle,

A measle

May easily grow.

But humour or pleazle

The wheezle

Or sneezle,

The measle

Will certainly go."

They expounded the reazles

For sneezles

And wheezles,

The manner of measles

When new.

They said "If he freezles

In draughts and in breezles,

Then PHTHEEZLES

May even ensue."

* * *

Christopher Robin

Got up in the morning,

The sneezles had vanished away.

And the look in his eye

Seemed to say to the sky,

"Now, how to amuse them to-day?"

BINKER

Binker—what I call him—is a secret of my own,

And Binker is the reason why I never feel alone.

Playing in the nursery, sitting on the stair,

Whatever I am busy at, Binker will be there.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,

And Mummy is the best since the world began,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan—

But they can't

See

Binker.

Binker's always talking, 'cos I'm teaching him to speak:

He sometimes likes to do it in a funny sort of squeak,

And he sometimes likes to do it in a hoodling sort of roar ...

And I have to do it for him 'cos his throat is rather sore.

Oh, Daddy is clever, he's a clever sort of man,

And Mummy knows all that anybody can,

And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan—

But they don't

Know

Binker.