together they read it again and again. Chicago was such a
wonderful city, said Sylves'. Why, it was always like New
Orleans at Mardi Gras with the people. He had seen Joseph
Lascaud, and he had a place to work promised him. He was well,
but he wanted, oh, so much, to see maman and Louisette. But
then, he could wait.

Was ever such a wonderful letter? Louisette sat for an hour
afterwards building gorgeous air-castles, while Ma'am Mouton
fingered the paper and murmured prayers to the Virgin for
Sylves'. When the bayou overflowed again? That would be in
April. Then Louisette caught herself looking critically at her
slender brown fingers, and blushed furiously, though Ma'am Mouton
could not see her in the gathering twilight.

Next week there was another letter, even more wonderful than the
first. Sylves' had found work. He was making cigars, and was
earning two dollars a day. Such wages! Ma'am Mouton and
Louisette began to plan pretty things for the brown cottage on
the Teche.

That was a pleasant winter, after all. True, there was no
Sylves', but then he was always in New Orleans for a few months
any way. There were his letters, full of wondrous tales of the
great queer city, where cars went by ropes underground, and where
there was no Mardi Gras and the people did not mind Lent. Now
and then there would be a present, a keepsake for Louisette, and
some money for maman. They would plan improvements for the
cottage, and Louisette began to do sewing and dainty crochet,
which she would hide with a blush if anyone hinted at a