st the dry-sand
growth of the cactus, flaunted its bright verdency a few rods back of
the station, and in its shade Banneker had swung a hammock for Io.
Hitching her pony and unfastening her hat, the girl stretched herself
luxuriously in the folds. A slow wind, spice-laden with the faint, crisp
fragrancies of the desert, swung her to a sweet rhythm. She closed her
eyes happily ... and when she opened them, Banneker was standing over
her, smiling.

"Don't speak to me," she murmured; "I want to believe that this will
last forever."

Silent and acquiescent, he seated himself in a camp-chair close by. She
stretched a hand to him, closing her eyes again.

"Swing me," she ordered.

He aided the wind to give a wider sweep to the hammock. Io stirred
restlessly.

"You've broken the spell," she accused softly. "Weave me another one."

"What shall it be?" He bent over the armful of books which he had
brought out.

"You choose this time."

"I wonder," he mused, regarding her consideringly.

"Ah, you may well wonder! I'm in a very special mood to-day."

"When aren't you, Butterfly?" he laughed.

"Beware that you don't spoil it. Choose well, or forever after hold your
peace."

He lifted the well-worn and well-loved volume of poetry. It parted in
his hand to the Rossetti sonnet. He began to read at the lines:

"When Work and Will awake too late, to gaze After their life sailed by,
and hold their breath."

Io opened her eyes again.

"Why did you select that thing?"

"Why did you mark it?"

"Did I mark it?"

"Certainly, I'm not responsible for the sage-blossom between the pages."

"Ah, the sage! That's for wisdom," she paraphrased lightly.

"Do you think Rossetti so wise a preceptor?"

"It isn't often that he preaches. When he does, as in that sonnet--well,
the inspiration may be a little heavy, but he does have something to
say."

"Then it's the more evident that you marked it for some special reason."

"What supernatural insight," she mocked. "Can you read your name between
the lines?"

"What is it that you want me to do?"

"You mean to ask what it is that Mr. Rossetti wants you to do. I didn't
write the sonnet, you know."

"You didn't fashion the arrow, but you aimed it."

"Am I a good marksman?"

"I suppose you mean that I'm wasting my time here."

"Surely not!" she gibed. "Forming a link of transcontinental traffic.
Helping to put a girdle 'round the earth in eighty days--or is it forty
now?