My uncles took no pains, for they had no desire, to be distinguished the one from the other. Each was always ready to meet any obligation of the other. If one made an appointment, few could tell which it was, and nobody which would keep it. No one could tell, except, perhaps, one who had been present, which of them had signed any document: their two hands were absolutely indistinguishable, I do not believe either of them, after a time, always himself knew whether the name was his or his brother's. He could only be always certain it must have been written by one of them. But each indifferently was ready to honour the signature, _Ed. Whichcote_. They died within a month of each other. Their bodies lie side by side. On their one tombstone is the inscription: HERE LIE THE DISUSED GARMENTS OF EDWARD AND EDMUND WHICHCOTE, BORN FEB. 29, 1804; DIED JUNE 30, AND JULY 28, 1864. THEY ARE NOT HERE; THEY ARE RISEN. John and I are waiting. Belorba Day. End of Project Gutenberg's The Flight of the Shadow, by George MacDonald