him just yet. He kept his eyes averted until he had composed himself, which he did with a few deep breaths and a quick swipe at his tearful eyes. When he felt sufficiently recovered, he turned back to Mr. Benedict — who was sound asleep in his chair.
Before Reynie could rise and tiptoe from the room, however, Mr. Benedict’s eyes popped open, and he laid a hand on Reynie’s arm to stop him. “Forgive me,” he said, clearing his throat and running his fingers through his unkempt hair. “Please stay just a moment longer. I wanted to ask you something. I wasn’t asleep long, was I? I trust I haven’t kept you up?”
“No, sir, only a minute or two.”
“Ah, good. Usually it
is
only a minute or two, but occasionally it’s longer. Now then, for my question.”
“Yes, sir?”
“It regards the chess problem from the first test. You, Reynie, happen to be the only child ever to answer the question correctly, and I should like to hear your explanation for it. The board clearly shows that only the black pawn is out of its starting position, while all the other pieces and pawns rest on their original squares. Yet according to the rules of chess, the white player always moves first. Why, then, did you say the position was possible?”
“Because the white knight may have changed its mind.”
“The white knight?”
“Oh, yes sir. The pawns can only move forward, never backward, so none of the white pawns could have moved yet. And the bigger pieces are trapped behind the pawns — because only knights can jump over things — so
they
couldn’t have moved yet, either. But a white knight might have opened the game by jumping out in front. Then, after the black pawn was moved, the knight returned to its original square. So it looks like the white player never moved at all.”
“Bravo, Reynie. You’re quite correct. Now tell me, would you consider this a good move?”
“I’m no great chess player, but I would say not. By starting over, white loses the advantage of going first.”
“Why, then, do you think the white player might have done it?”
Reynie considered. He imagined himself moving out his knight only to bring it right back to where it had started. Why would he ever do such a thing? At last he said, “Perhaps because he doubted himself.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Benedict. “Perhaps he did. Thank you, Reynie, you’ve been very kind and very patient, and I’m sure you’re ready for a night’s sleep. I’ll see you at breakfast, bright and early.”
Reynie rose and went to the door, but there he hesitated. He looked back. Mr. Benedict had replaced his spectacles and lowered himself onto the floor again, was again leaning against the desk, and had taken up a book. His eyebrows rose expectantly when he noticed the boy lingering.
“Yes, Reynie?”
“Mr. Benedict, sir, have you read all the books in this house?”
Mr. Benedict smiled, glancing fondly about at the many books in his study before looking at Reynie again. “My dear boy,” he said, “what do you think?”
Bright and early, Mr. Benedict had said, and indeed it was early, but it was far from bright. As the children rose and went down to the dining room (not knowing where else to meet), rain was slashing against the windows, wind groaned in the chimneys, and odd drafts sent papers flying from desktops and skittering across floors. The blackened sky outside seemed to creep gloomily into the house, dimming the lamps and lengthening their shadows; and along with the howling chimneys was heard the growling of thunder, low and menacing and close at hand, as if a tiger prowled the dark rooms beyond their walls. From time to time the lamps flickered with the thunder, and once — just as the children were taking seats at the table — they went out entirely. The room was dark only for a few moments, yet when the lamps came back to life, Milligan stood before the children with a pitcher of juice, having appeared out of nowhere.
Constance
Before Reynie could rise and tiptoe from the room, however, Mr. Benedict’s eyes popped open, and he laid a hand on Reynie’s arm to stop him. “Forgive me,” he said, clearing his throat and running his fingers through his unkempt hair. “Please stay just a moment longer. I wanted to ask you something. I wasn’t asleep long, was I? I trust I haven’t kept you up?”
“No, sir, only a minute or two.”
“Ah, good. Usually it
is
only a minute or two, but occasionally it’s longer. Now then, for my question.”
“Yes, sir?”
“It regards the chess problem from the first test. You, Reynie, happen to be the only child ever to answer the question correctly, and I should like to hear your explanation for it. The board clearly shows that only the black pawn is out of its starting position, while all the other pieces and pawns rest on their original squares. Yet according to the rules of chess, the white player always moves first. Why, then, did you say the position was possible?”
“Because the white knight may have changed its mind.”
“The white knight?”
“Oh, yes sir. The pawns can only move forward, never backward, so none of the white pawns could have moved yet. And the bigger pieces are trapped behind the pawns — because only knights can jump over things — so
they
couldn’t have moved yet, either. But a white knight might have opened the game by jumping out in front. Then, after the black pawn was moved, the knight returned to its original square. So it looks like the white player never moved at all.”
“Bravo, Reynie. You’re quite correct. Now tell me, would you consider this a good move?”
“I’m no great chess player, but I would say not. By starting over, white loses the advantage of going first.”
“Why, then, do you think the white player might have done it?”
Reynie considered. He imagined himself moving out his knight only to bring it right back to where it had started. Why would he ever do such a thing? At last he said, “Perhaps because he doubted himself.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Benedict. “Perhaps he did. Thank you, Reynie, you’ve been very kind and very patient, and I’m sure you’re ready for a night’s sleep. I’ll see you at breakfast, bright and early.”
Reynie rose and went to the door, but there he hesitated. He looked back. Mr. Benedict had replaced his spectacles and lowered himself onto the floor again, was again leaning against the desk, and had taken up a book. His eyebrows rose expectantly when he noticed the boy lingering.
“Yes, Reynie?”
“Mr. Benedict, sir, have you read all the books in this house?”
Mr. Benedict smiled, glancing fondly about at the many books in his study before looking at Reynie again. “My dear boy,” he said, “what do you think?”
Bright and early, Mr. Benedict had said, and indeed it was early, but it was far from bright. As the children rose and went down to the dining room (not knowing where else to meet), rain was slashing against the windows, wind groaned in the chimneys, and odd drafts sent papers flying from desktops and skittering across floors. The blackened sky outside seemed to creep gloomily into the house, dimming the lamps and lengthening their shadows; and along with the howling chimneys was heard the growling of thunder, low and menacing and close at hand, as if a tiger prowled the dark rooms beyond their walls. From time to time the lamps flickered with the thunder, and once — just as the children were taking seats at the table — they went out entirely. The room was dark only for a few moments, yet when the lamps came back to life, Milligan stood before the children with a pitcher of juice, having appeared out of nowhere.
Constance
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