When he told Mrs. Simmons what he had done, she sighed deeply; but fully
alive to the importance of the case, promised him a common one, not too
good to read daily.

"Daily! Bless you, Mrs. Simmons! Why, I hardly have time to look in the
paper, and see who's gone up, and who's gone down, and who's been beat."

"But your better part, cap'en?" pleaded the old lady.

"I--I don't know, my good woman--hard to find it, I guess--the hull lot
averages purty low."

"But, cap'en," she continued, "don't you feel your need of a change?"

"Not from the Queen Ann, ma'am--she only needs bigger engines--"

"Change of heart, I mean, cap'en," interrupted Mrs. Simmons. "Don't you
feel your need of religion?"

"Ha! ha!" roared Captain Sam; "the idea of a steamboat captain with
religion! Why, bless your dear, innocent, old soul, the fust time he
wanted to wood up in a hurry, his religion would git, quicker'n
lightnin'. The only steamboatman I ever knowed in the meetin'-house line
went up for seven year for settin' fire to his own boat to git the
insurance."

Mrs. Simmons could not recall at the moment the remembrance of any pious
captain, so she ceased laboring with Captain Sam. But when he went out,
she placed on his table a tract, entitled "The Furnace Seven Times
Heated," which tract the captain considerately handed to his engineer,
supposing it to be a circular on intensified caloric.

Year after year the captain laid up for repairs, and put up with Mrs.
Simmons. Year after year he was jolly, genial, chivalrous, generous,
but--not what good Mrs. Simmons earnestly wanted him to be.

He would buy tickets to all the church fairs, give free passages to all
preachers recommended by Mrs. Simmons, and on Sunday morning he would
respectfully escort the old lady as far as the church-door.

On one occasion, when Mrs. Simmons's church building was struck by
lightning, a deacon dropped in with a subscription-paper, while the
captain was in. The generous steamboatman immediately put himself down
for fifty dollars; and although he improved the occasion to condemn
severely the meanness of certain holy people, and though his language
seemed to create an atmosphere which must certainly melt the money--for
those were specie days--Mrs. Simmons declared to herself that "he
couldn't be fur from the kingdom when his heart was so little set on
Mammon as that."

"He's too good for Satan--the Lord _must_ hev him," thought the good old
lady.

On