There are books that make me cry. Kids’ books. Books I read aloud to Tom. The crying part is usually at the end, which means I can manage to just struggle through, voice cracking, eyes spilling over, reaching the end just in time to pause to regain my composure. So far the major offenders are “The House at Pooh Corner” and “An Owl and Three Pussycats,” and “The Selfish Giant.”
So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing