"I know," she said. "There were six—no, there were eight flies. Jack swallowed one—yes, he swallowed one, he ate another—let me see, how many flies did I say? Eight flies? Yes, eight. Well, he swallowed one, and he ate one, and"—she took off her spectacles and thought a moment—"he bit another in halves.
"Yes, that will do," she said with satisfaction. "He swallowed one, he ate another, and he bit another in halves. How many flies were left to fly away?"
Chris knitted his brows. "Lots," he replied, as he pulled one of Jack's ears.
"Come, come, think," Granny said reprovingly. "He swallowed one—that left how many?"
"Seven," said Chris.
"Very good. He ate another?" she went on—
"That left six," the little beggar said, looking very astute.
"That's right. And he bit another in halves. Then, how many were left to fly away?" she asked with mild triumph.
"Five and a half," answered Chris. Then thoughtfully: "How did the half-fly fly away, my Granny? P'r'aps Jack only ate the body and left the wings. Was that how it happened?"
"My pet shouldn't ask such silly questions," Granny said, speaking more testily than she generally did. "I only said, supposing there were eight flies."