"What is it?" he asked.
"It's Myst. I mean, look at this," she handed over a paper.
Isaac looked at it.
"These answers look like they're right. What about it?"
"Honey, take a good look at what type of questions they are."
Isaac looked at it again.
"You know, now that you mention it, I know there's something amiss, but I just can't put my finger on it."
"That's sixth grade work. Myst is seven."
He stared.
"What?" he whispered.
"Our seven-year-old daughter is doing sixth grade work."
Isaac sat down, blinked, looked about at the paper, then at Babsie, then the paper and then at Babsie again.
"Mystique?"
"Yep."
"Sixth grade work?"
"Yep."
"And she's getting right answers?"
"Yep."
"How... how long?"
"Well, I know that throughout the year I've been giving her harder and harder work when I realised how easily she was doing her work," Babsie frowned. "You taught her for three years while I was in a coma, you should have realised by now."
"Yeah, you think I would have. I guess, thinking about it, I was taking care of the education of all the kids. I guess I just gave her harder work without even realising what I was doing," then he paused. "I assume I did give her harder work."
"Oh, yeah, you did. She was flying through that like the world was going to end tomorrow and she didn't want to waste time with school work."
Isaac gave a nervous laugh.
"So, uhh, what do you think we should do?"
"I think we should get an IQ test done."
Isaac nodded.
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Do you know who does them?"
"Nope, but I'm going to find out."