"It was an unfortunate accident," said Anna-Felicitas, considering her memories. "Indeed," said the old gentleman. "Indeed. How was that?" "By the usual method, if an uncle isn't a blood uncle," said Anna-Rose. "We happened to have a marriageable aunt, and he married her. So we have to have him." "It was sheer bad luck," said Anna-Felicitas, again brooding on that distant image. "Yes," said Anna-Rose. "Just bad luck. He might so easily have married some one else's aunt. But no. His roving glance must needs go and fall on ours." "Indeed," said the old gentleman. "Indeed." And he ruminated on this, with an affectionate eye--he was affectionate--resting in turn on each Anna. "Then Mr. Twist," he went on presently--"we all know him of course--a public benefactor--" "Yes, _isn't_ he," said Anna-Rose radiantly. "A boon to the breakfast-table--" "Yes, _isn't_ he," said Anna-Rose again, all asparkle. "He _is_ so pleasant at breakfast." "Then he--Mr. Twist--Teapot Twist we call him where I live--" "Teapot Twist?" said Anna-Rose. "I think that's irreverent." "Not at all. It's a pet name. A sign of our affection and gratitude. Then he isn't your uncle?" "We haven't got a real uncle nearer than heaven," said Anna-Felicitas, her cheek on her hand, dreamily reconstructing the image of Onkel Col. "Indeed," said the old gentleman. "Indeed." And he ruminated, on this too, his thirsty heart--he had a thirsty heart, and found difficulty in slaking it because of his wife--very indulgent toward the twins. Then he said: "That's a long way off." "What is?" asked Anna-Rose. "The place your uncle's in." "Not too far really," said Anna-Felicitas softly. "He's safe there. He was very old, and was difficult to look after. Why, he got there at last through his own carelessness." "Indeed," said the old gentleman. "Sheer carelessness," said Anna-Rose. "Indeed," said the old gentleman. "How was that?" "Well, you see where we lived they didn't have electric light," began Anna-Rose, "and one night--the the night he went to heaven--he put the petroleum lamp--" And she was about to relate that dreadful story of Onkle Col's end which has already been described in these pages as unfit for anywhere but an appendix for time had blunted her feelings, when Anna-Felicitas put out a beseeching hand and stopped her. Even after all these years Anna-Felicitas couldn't bear to remember Onkle Col's end. It had haunted her childhood. It had licked about her dreams in leaping tongues of flame. And it wasn't only tongues of flame. There were circumstances connected with it.... Only quite recently, since the war had damped down lesser horrors, had she got rid of it. She could at least now talk of him calmly, and also speculate with pleasure on the probable aspect of Onkle Col in glory, but she still couldn't bear to hear the details of his end.