"Turn to something else.
I don't like that. It reminds me of travel."
Obedient, Banneker made another essay:
"Clay County Clay Target Traps. Easily Adjusted to the Elevation--"
"Oh, dear!" she broke in again. "That reminds me that Dad wrote me to
look up his pet shot-gun before his return. I don't like that either.
Try again."
This time the explorer plunged deep into the volume.
"How to Make Home Home-like. An Invaluable Counselor for the Woman of
the Household--"
Io snatched the book from the reader's hand and tossed it into a corner.
"Sears-Roebuck are very tactless," she declared. "Everything they have
to offer reminds one of home. What do you think of home, Ban? Home, as
an abstract proposition. Home as the what-d'you-call-'em of the nation;
the palladium--no, the bulwark? Home as viewed by the homing pigeon?
Home, Sweet Home, as sung by--Would you answer, Ban, if I stopped
gibbering and gave you the chance?"
"I've never had much opportunity to judge about home, you know."
She darted out a quick little hand and touched his sleeve. The raillery
had faded from her face. "So you haven't. Not very tactful of me, was
it! Will you throw me into the corner with Mr. Sears and Mr. Roebuck,
Ban? I'm sorry."
"You needn't be.
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