Norman had climbed over the piles of freight, cordage, and anchors, and taken his stand beside the flagstaff on the ship's prow, his soul enraptured with the thrilling adventure on which he had embarked.
He had made two trips to the island before, but never had he seen it rise from the sea in such matchless glory as to-day.
Far up in the sky loomed the mountain peaks still covered with snow, while the rich hills and valleys to the southward rolled laughingly in their robes of green.
Five miles down the coast the ship turned her nose inshore, and slowly ploughed her way through a narrow channel which opened between two hills. She quickly cleared the channel and rounded another headland, when a shout rang from her decks. Straight before them, across a beautiful landlocked bay, which formed a perfect harbour, rose the huge hotel, the home of the Brotherhood. The central building was crowned by two tall towers, and the long wings which stretched toward the sea pierced the skyline with a dozen minarets of quaint Moorish pattern. From the flagpole on the lawn, from each graceful tower and each shining sun-kissed minaret, flew the scarlet ensign of Socialism.
When the ship swept in alongside the pier the building loomed from its hilltop higher apparently than the mountain range behind it.
Barbara clapped her hands as she ran to Norman's side.
"Look! Look at those flags! Aren't they glorious? Nobody will haul them down here, will they?"
Norman lifted his eyes and looked in silence for a moment. A stiff breeze was blowing from the southeast, and the two huge banners of scarlet stood straight from their staffs on the towers and seemed to fill the sky with quivering flame.
"Glorious!" he said, at last. "They speak the end of strife, the dawn of love and human brotherhood!"
The Wolfs had preceded them to the colony with a select band of enthusiasts, stored the first supplies, and set the place in order to receive as welcome guests the first shipload of pioneers.