“Does he take them in exchange for something else?” asked Mildred.

“That would be bartering them,” Willie replied.

“Perhaps some friend sends them to him,” suggested Mrs. Allgood.

“I said that they were not given to him.”

“I know,” said George, with confidence.  “A strange hen comes into his place and lays them.”

“But that would be finding them, wouldn’t it?”

“Does he hire them?” asked Reginald.

“If so, he could not return them after they were eaten, so that would be stealing them.”

“Perhaps it is a pun on the word ‘lay,’” Mr. Filkins said.  “Does he lay them on the table?”

“He would have to get them first, wouldn’t he?  The question was, How does he get them?”

“Give it up!” said everybody.  Then little Willie crept round to the protection of his mother, for George was apt to be rough on such occasions.

“The man keeps ducks!” he cried, “and his servant collects the eggs every morning.”

“But you said he doesn’t keep birds!” George protested.

“I didn’t, did I, Mr. Filkins?  I said he doesn’t keep hens.”

“But he finds them,” said Reginald.

“No; I said his servant finds them.”

“Well, then,” Mildred interposed, “his servant gives them to him.”

“You cannot give a man his own property, can you?”

All agreed that Willie’s answer was quite satisfactory.  Then Uncle John produced a little fallacy that “brought the proceedings to a close,” as the newspapers say.

413.—­A CHESSBOARD FALLACY.

[Illustration]

“Here is a diagram of a chessboard,” he said.  “You see there are sixty-four squares—­eight by eight.  Now I draw a straight line from the top left-hand corner, where the first and second squares meet, to the bottom right-hand corner.  I cut along this line with the scissors, slide up the piece that I have marked B, and then clip off the little corner C by a cut along the first upright line.  This little piece will exactly fit into its place at the top, and we now have an oblong with seven squares on one side and nine squares on the other.  There are, therefore, now only sixty-three squares, because seven multiplied by nine makes sixty-three.  Where on earth does that lost square go to?  I have tried over and over again to catch the little beggar, but he always eludes me.  For the life of me I cannot discover where he hides himself.”

“It seems to be like the other old chessboard fallacy, and perhaps the explanation is the same,” said Reginald—­“that the pieces do not exactly fit.”

“But they do fit,” said Uncle John.  “Try it, and you will see.”

Later in the evening Reginald and George, were seen in a corner with their heads together, trying to catch that elusive little square, and it is only fair to record that before they retired for the night they succeeded in securing their prey, though some others of the company failed to see it when captured.  Can the reader solve the little mystery?