She moved briskly
about the yard, taking things from the line, when Louisette's
voice called cheerily:
"Ah, Ma'am Mouton, can I help?"
Louisette was petite and plump and black-haired. Louisette's
eyes danced, and her lips were red and tempting. Ma'am Mouton's
face relaxed as the small brown hands relieved hers of their
burden.
"Sylves', has he come yet?" asked the red mouth.
"Mais non, ma chere," said Ma'am Mouton, sadly, "I can' tell fo'
w'y he no come home soon dese day. Ah me, I feel lak' somet'ing
goin' happen. He so strange."
Even as she spoke a quick nervous step was heard crunching up the
brick walk. Sylves' paused an instant without the kitchen door,
his face turned to the setting sun. He was tall and slim and
agile; a true 'cajan.
"Bon jour, Louisette," he laughed. "Eh, maman!"
"Ah, my son, you are ver' late."
Sylves' frowned, but said nothing. It was a silent supper that
followed. Louisette was sad, Ma'am Mouton sighed now and then,
Sylves' was constrained.
"Maman," he said at length, "I am goin' away."
Ma'am Mouton dropped her fork and stared at him with unseeing
eyes; then, as she comprehended his remark, she put her hand out
to him with a pitiful gesture.
"Sylves'!" cried Louisette, springing to her feet.
"Maman, don't, don't!" he said weakly; then gathering strength
from the silence, he burst forth:
"Yaas, I 'm goin' away to work. I 'm tired of dis, jus' dig,
dig, work in de fiel', nothin' to see but de cloud, de tree, de
bayou.
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