“Oh, I wrote him a little note after you told me the story and told him I was proud of having a Saint-George-kind of a father, and that we hoped every day he’d get the microbe.”
“You darling!” exclaimed Barbara, drawing her to her for another impulsive hug. She did not ask as Georgina was afraid she would:
“Why didn’t you tell me you were writing to your father?” Barbara understood, without asking, remembering the head bowed in her lap after that confession of her encounter with the prying stranger in the bakery.
Suddenly Georgina asked:
“Barby, what is the ‘Tishbite?’”
“The what?” echoed Barby, wrinkling her forehead in perplexity.
“The Tishbite. Don’t you know it says in the Bible, Elijah and the Tishbite----”
“Oh, no, dear, you’ve turned it around, and put the and in the wrong place. It is ‘And Elijah the Tishbite,’ just as we’d say William the Norman or Manuel the Portuguese.”
“Well, for pity sakes!” drawled Georgina in a long, slow breath of relief. “Is that all? I wish I’d known it long ago. It would have saved me a lot of scary feelings.”
Then she told how she had made the wish on the star and tried to prove it as Belle had taught her, by opening the Bible at random.