Chicago! A name to conjure with for wickedness.

"W'y, yaas," continued Sylves', "lots of boys I know dere. Henri
an' Joseph Lascaud an' Arthur, dey write me what money dey mek'
in cigar. I can mek' a livin' too. I can mek' fine cigar. See
how I do in New Orleans in de winter."

"Oh, Sylves'," wailed Louisette, "den you'll forget me!"

"Non, non, ma chere," he answered tenderly. "I will come back
when the bayou overflows again, an' maman an' Louisette will have
fine present."

Ma'am Mouton had bowed her head on her hands, and was rocking to
and fro in an agony of dry-eyed misery.

Sylves' went to her side and knelt. "Maman," he said softly,
"maman, you mus' not cry. All de boys go 'way, an' I will come
back reech, an' you won't have fo' to work no mo'."

But Ma'am Mouton was inconsolable.

It was even as Sylves' had said. In the summer-time the boys of
the Bayou Teche would work in the field or in the town of
Franklin, hack-driving and doing odd jobs. When winter came,
there was a general exodus to New Orleans, a hundred miles away,
where work was to be had as cigar-makers. There is money, plenty
of it, in cigar-making, if one can get in the right place. Of
late, however, there had been a general slackness of the trade.
Last winter oftentimes Sylves' had walked the streets out of