Simple and comfortable all the furnishings were, hand-wrought for use and pleasure. Big chairs invited. Broad couches offered rest. No hunting-trophies, no heads of slaughtered wild things disfigured the walls, as in most bungalows; but the flickering firelight showed pictures that inspired thought and carried lessons home--pictures of toil and of repose, pictures of life, and love, and simple joy--pictures of tragedy, of reality and deep significance. Here one saw Millet's "Sower," and "Gleaners" and "The Man with the Hoe." There, Fritel's "The Conquerors," and Stuck's "War." A large copy of Bernard's "Labor,"--the sensation of the 1922 Paris Salon--hung above the mantelpiece, on which stood Rodin's "Miner" in bronze. Portraits of Marx, Engels, LaSalle and Debs, with others loved and honored in the Movement, showed between original sketches by Walter Crane, Balfour Kerr, Art Young and Ryan Walker. And in the well-filled bookshelves at the right, Socialist books in abundance all told the same tale to the observer--that this was a Socialist nest high up there among the mountains, and that every thought and word and deed was inspired by one great ideal and one alone--the Revolution! At a plain but well-covered table near the western windows, where fading sunlight helped firelight to illumine the little company, sat three men--two of them armed with heavy automatics--and a woman. Another woman, Catherine, was standing by her chair and beckoning Gabriel to his. "Come, Comrade!" she exclaimed. "If you delay much longer, everything will be stone cold, and _then_ beg forgiveness if you dare!" Gabriel laughed. "Your own fault, if you wait for me," he answered, seating himself. "You know how it is when you get to scribbling--you never know when to stop. And the scenery, up here, won't let you go. Positively fascinating, that view is! If the Plutes knew of it, they'd put a summer resort here, and coin millions!" "Yes," answered Craig, once Congressman Craig, but now hiding from the Air Trust spies. "And what's more, they'd mighty soon confiscate this resting-up place of the Comrades, and have us back behind bars, or worse. But they _don't_ know about it, and aren't likely to. Thank Heaven for at least one place the Party can maintain as an asylum for our people when too hard-pressed! Not a road within ten miles of here. No way to reach this place, masked here in the cliffs and mountains, except by aeroplane. Not one chance in a thousand, fellows, that they'll ever find it. Confusion take them all!"