But the good soul could endure the suspense no longer. She hurried to the door, and cried: “Cap’en!” “That’s me,” answered Captain Sam, returning. “Cap’en,” said Mrs. Simmons, in a voice in which solemnity and excitement struggled for the mastery, “hez the Lord sent His angel unto you?” “He hez,” replied the captain, in a very decided tone, and abruptly turned, and hurried to his own room. “Bless the Lord, O my soul!” almost shouted Mrs. Simmons, in her ecstasy. “We musn’t worry them that’s weak in the faith, but I shan’t be satisfied till I hear him tell his experience. Oh, _what_ a blessed thing to relate at prayer-meetin’ to-night!” There was, indeed, a rattling of dry bones at the prayer-meeting that night, for it was the first time in the history of the church that the conversion of a steamboat captain had been reported. On returning home from the meeting, additional proof awaited the happy old saint. The captain was in his room—in his room at nine o’clock in the evening! She had known the captain for years, but he had never before got in so early. There could be no doubt about it, though—there he was, softly whistling. “I’d rather hear him whistlin’ Windham or Boylston,” thought Mrs. Simmons; “that tune don’t fit any hymn _I_ know. P’r’aps, though, they sing it in some of them churches up to Cincinnaty,” she charitably continued. “Cap’en,” said she, at breakfast, next morning, when the other guests had departed, “is your mind at peace?” “Peace?” echoed the captain—“peaceful as the Ohio at low water.” The captain’s simile was not so Scriptural as the old lady could have desired, but she remembered that he was but a young convert, and that holy conversation was a matter of gradual attainment. So, simply and piously making the best of it, she fervently exclaimed: “That it may ever be thus is my earnest prayer, cap’en.” “Amen to that,” said Captain Sam, very heartily, upsetting the chair in his haste to get out of the room. For several days Mrs. Simmons lived in a state of bliss unknown to boarding-house keepers, whose joys come only from a sense of provisions purchased cheaply and paying boarders secured. From the kitchen, the dining-room, or wherever she was, issued sounds of praise and devotion, intoned to some familiar church melody. Scrubbing the kitchen-floor dampened not her ardor, and even the fateful washing-day produced no visible effects on her spirits. From over the bread-pan she sent exultant strains to echo through the house, and her fists vigorously marked time in the yielding dough. From the third-story window, as she hung out the bed-linen to air, her holy notes fell on the ears of passing teamsters, and caused them to cast wondering glances upward. What was the heat of the kitchen-stove to her, now that Captain Sam was insured against flames eternal? What, now, was even money, since Captain Sam had laid up his treasures above?