Winnie-the-Pooh stacked up his pots of honey one way, then carefully took them down and stacked them a different way. He did this three times, and finally, even though there was nobody there, said out loud “Oh bother!”
A small voice replied “What’s the matter?”
Pooh, who had thought he was alone in his kitchen, jumped into the air and almost knocked over his latest stack of honey pots. “Who’s that?” he asked, looking around to see who it was.
“It’s me, of course,” said the small voice. “Shrew, at your service. Are you having trouble stacking those jars?”
“Those are my pots of honey,” said Pooh. “I wanted to stack them in a nice-looking pattern, but they’re the wrong number of pots, I’m afraid. And also, Shrew, where are you? I can hear you but I can’t see you.”
“That’s because I’m smaller than you expect,” said Shrew. “Look down at the floor next to the leg of your table, that’s where I am.”
Pooh looked down to see a very tiny animal, a little bit like Mouse, but even smaller and with a pointier nose.
“Very nice to meet you, Shrew,” said Pooh. “My name is…”
“…Winnie-the-Pooh, of course,” said Shrew. “No need to tell me. Worked it out. Same way I worked out that you think you’re a bear of Very Little Brain, but really you’re smarter than you think you are.”
“I am?” said Pooh doubtfully.
“Of course you are,” said Shrew. “And you’re right-handed, too. Or right-pawed, at least.”
“How do you know that?” asked Pooh, peering at his paws one after the other.
“Quite simple,” said Shrew, “the one who lives in a house is the one who most often uses the front door. The handle on your door is worn in a way that shows it’s almost always opened with a right hand…er, paw…and so that must be because you use your right paw more than your left.”
“I suppose I do,” said Pooh, still studying his paws. “Which one is my right, again?”
“Never mind that,” said Shrew, “tell me about your stacking problem. I love stacking problems. In fact I love ALL problems. That’s probably because I’m a shrew.”
“Well, well,” said Pooh, “I counted thirteen pots of honey, and I tried to stack them in a square, but I either had some left over or didn’t have enough. Then I tried a triangle and it wouldn’t come out right. It’s just the wrong number of pots for stacking, Shrew. Why do you love problems because you’re a Shrew?”
“I think it’s the other way ’round,” said Shrew. “I think I’m called “Shrew” because I love problems. The name “Shrew” comes from the Old English word “screawa”, and around the year 1300 the word “schreued” showed up in English. At first it meant a person who wasn’t nice at all — or it might be an animal that didn’t behave properly.”
“I see,” said Pooh, who didn’t. It seemed like a polite sort of thing to say.
“By about two centuries later the spelling had changed to ‘shrewd’ and it also meant a person — especially a woman — who was a nag or a scold. Shakespeare used that in his play “The Taming of the Shrew,” and even Chaucer used the word that way in “The Merchant’s Tale”.
“Oh,” said Pooh, looking at his honey pots and thinking that he hadn’t had breakfast yet.
“But then by the 1500s ‘shrewd’ started to mean ‘clever’ — and since everybody could see that was the proper meaning, that’s where it’s stayed ever since. So to answer your question, I love solving problems, puzzles, conundrums, and all that sort of thing, and I’m quite good at it, too. So that’s why I’m called Shrew.”
“That’s very nice,” said Pooh, who was trying to remember asking that question Shrew had just answered. “I wonder, Shrew, would you like to have some breakfast? Because I think that’s what time it is.”
“Why thank you, Pooh,” said Shrew, “if I might have just a small spoonful of honey?”
“How small?” asked Pooh.
“As small as you have,” said Shrew. He looked at the spoon Pooh held up. “No, that’s much too big. Just half of that spoonful, then.”
Pooh was relieved; he had once offered some honey to Elephant, who had eaten three whole pots of it. He lifted Shrew up onto the table and gave him a half-spoonful of honey, then had a bit more than that for himself. As they ate their breakfast, Shrew drew something in the dust on the end of the table.
“Here, Pooh,” he said, smacking his lips because the honey was sticky. “Arrange your honey pots in this pattern; I think you’ll like it.”
Pooh looked at Shrew’s drawing, which looked like this:
. . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
“Yes,” he said, “That’s what I wanted, for it to come out the same on both ends. You really ARE clever, Shrew.”
“Oh it was nothing,” said Shrew modestly. “But I must be going. I’m just on a holiday jaunt, you know. Roving about the country, taking a break, that sort of thing. Must head back home before too long; I’m needed there.”
“You are?” said Pooh.
“Oh yes indeed,” said Shrew. “I live in London, you know. Share a flat with two adult gentlemen who often encounter interesting problems and puzzles. I solve the puzzles for them, even though they don’t know it.”
“They don’t?” asked Pooh.
“Not a bit of it,” said Shrew. “What happens is this: the tall lean gentleman finds out the facts of a problem, and fancies himself quite the problem solver. He tells the short stout fellow all these details, and I listen from one of my hiding spots. Then I solve the problem and when the tall gentleman goes to sleep, I whisper the answer in his ear. He wakes up in the morning with the answer, and thinks he solved it himself. He tells the stout chap, they go off to put things right, and then before long there’s a new puzzle for me.”
“That sounds like a very nice arrangement,” said Pooh, who was stacking his honey pots the way Shrew had drawn.
“It’s quite satisfactory,” said Shrew. “I don’t get any credit, of course, but I’m not in the game for credit; I just love solving things. ‘Crimes’, I think I’ve heard the tall chap call them. Not sure what that means, but the arrangement suits me. And now I must take my leave, Pooh. Thank you for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome,” said Pooh. “And thank you for helping with my honey pots.” He looked admiringly at the neat stack.
Shrew jumped down from the table, surprising Pooh, who thought it would be much too high a leap for such a tiny animal. But Shrew was fine, and waved as he trotted under the front door and out.
Pooh was still admiring his stack of pots when Piglet stopped by for a visit. Pooh told Piglet about Shrew and proudly showed off his new arrangement of pots.
“That’s lovely, Pooh,” said Piglet. “But when you finish the honey from one of those pots, won’t it ruin your pattern?”
“Oh,” said Pooh, who hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose so, Piglet. But that means,” he said, brightening, “that I’ll just need to gather some more honey. Come on, Piglet, I think I know just where some bees have been making some just for me.” Pooh led the way, opening his front door with his right paw.
