would have found the clearing was not in its usual state. Was it a
flour mill that had anchored on it during the night? It looked like
it, with its wings and sails--motionless and mysterious in the
gathering gloom.

But neither the president nor the secretary of the Weldon Institute
noticed the strange modification in the landscape of Fairmount Park;
and neither did Frycollin. It seemed to him that the thieves were
approaching, and preparing for their attack; and he was seized with
convulsive fear, paralyzed in his limbs, with every hair he could
boast of on the bristle. His terror was extreme. His knees bent under
him, but he had just strength enough to exclaim for. the last time,
"Master Uncle! Master Uncle!"

"What is the matter with you?" asked Uncle Prudent.

Perhaps the disputants would not have been sorry to have relieved
their fury at the expense of the unfortunate valet. But they had no
time; and neither even had he time to answer.

A whistle was heard. A flash of electric light shot across the
clearing.

A signal, doubtless? The moment had come for the deed of violence. In
less time that it takes to tell, six men came leaping across from
under the trees, two onto Uncle Prudent, two onto Phil Evans, two
onto Frycollin--there was no need for the last two, for the Negro
was incapable of defending himself. The president and secretary of
the Weldon Institute, although taken by surprise, would have resisted.