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?

And the captain’s presence, which had always comforted her, was now a perpetual blessing.  Always pleasant, kind, and courteous, as of old, but oh, so different!

All the coal-scuttles and water-pails in the house might occupy the stairway at night, but the captain could safely thread his way among them.

No longer did she hurry past his door, with her fingers ready, at the slightest alarm, to act as compressors to her ears; no, the captain’s language, though not exactly religious, was eminently proper.

He was at home so much evenings, that his lamp consumed more oil in a week than it used to in months; but the old lady cheerfully refilled it, and complained not that the captain’s goodness was costly.