I am not so well, and Monsieur le
docteur says it is well for me to go to the South again."
Monsieur le docteur! Sylves' not well! The thought struck a
chill to the hearts of Ma'am Mouton and Louisette, but not for
long. Of course, Sylves' was not well, he needed some of maman's
tisanes. Then he was homesick; it was to be expected.
At last the great day came, Sylves' would be home. The brown
waters of the bayou had spread until they were seemingly trying
to rival the Mississippi in width. The little house was scrubbed
and cleaned until it shone again. Louisette had looked her
dainty little dress over and over to be sure that there was not a
flaw to be found wherein Sylves' could compare her unfavourably
to the stylish Chicago girls.
The train rumbled in on the platform, and two pair of eyes opened
wide for the first glimpse of Sylves'. The porter, all
officiousness and brass buttons, bustled up to Ma'am Mouton.
"This is Mrs. Mouton?" he inquired deferentially.
Ma'am Mouton nodded, her heart sinking. "Where is Sylves'?"
"He is here, madam."
There appeared Joseph Lascaud, then some men bearing Something.
Louisette put her hands up to her eyes to hide the sight, but
Ma'am Mouton was rigid.
"It was too cold for him," Joseph was saying to almost deaf ears,
"and he took the consumption. He thought he could get well when
he come home. He talk all the way down about the bayou, and
about you and Louisette.
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