“Yes,” continued Mrs. Simmons; “but don’t be afeard; ev’ry thing’ll come right in the end. I know—I’ve been through it all.”
“That’s so,” said the captain, “you hev that. Well, now, would you mind interdoosin’ me to your minister?”
“Mind!” said the good old lady. “I’ve been a-dyin’ to do it ever since you come. I’ve told him about it, and he’s ez glad fur you ez I am.”
“Oh!” said the captain, looking a little confused, “you suspected it, did you?”
“From the very minute you fust kem,” replied Mrs. Simmons; “I know the signs.”
“Well,” said the captain, “might ez well see him fust as last then, I reckon.”
“I’ll get ready right away,” said Mrs. Simmons. And away she hurried, leaving the captain greatly puzzled.
The old lady put on her newest bombazine dress—all this happened ten years ago, ladies—and a hat to match.
Never before had these articles of dress been seen by the irreligious light of a weekday; the day seemed fully as holy as an ordinary Sabbath.
They attracted considerable attention, in their good clothes and solemn faces, and finally, as they stood on the parson’s doorstep, two of the captain’s own deckhands saw him, and straightway drank themselves into a state of beastly intoxication in trying to decide what the captain could want of a preacher.