“If you had read on,” said Barby, “you’d have found what it meant your own self.”
“But the book shut up before I had a chance,” explained Georgina. “And I never could find the place again, although I’ve hunted and hunted. And I was sure it meant some sort of devil, and that it would come and punish me for using the Bible that way as if it were a hoodoo.”
“Then why didn’t you ask me?” insisted Barby. “There’s another time you see, when a big worry and misunderstanding could have been cleared away with a word. To think of your living in dread all that time, when the Tishbite was only a good old prophet whose presence brought a blessing to the house which sheltered him.”
That night when Georgina’s curls were being brushed she said, “Barby, I know now who my Tishbite is; it’s Captain Kidd. He’s brought a blessing ever since he came to this town. If it hadn’t been for his barking that day we were playing in the garage I wouldn’t be here now to tell the tale. If it hadn’t been for him I wouldn’t have known Richard, and we’d never have started to playing pirate. And if we hadn’t played pirate Richard wouldn’t have asked to borrow the rifle, and if he hadn’t asked we never would have found the note hidden in the stock, and if we hadn’t found the note nobody would have known that Danny was innocent. Then if Captain Kidd hadn’t found the pouch we wouldn’t have seen the compass that led to finding the wild-cat woman who told us that Danny was alive and well.”
“What a House-That-Jack-Built sort of tale that was!” exclaimed Barby, much amused. “We’ll have to do something in Captain Kidd’s honor. Give him a party perhaps, and light up the holiday tree.”
The usual bedtime ceremonies were over, and Barby had turned out the light and reached the door when Georgina raised herself on her elbow to call:
“Barby, I’ve just thought of it. The wish I made on that star that night is beginning to come true. Nearly everybody I know is happy about something.” Then she snuggled her head down on the pillow with a little wriggle of satisfaction. “Ugh! this is such a good world. I’m so glad I’m living in it. Aren’t you?”
And Barby had to come all the way back in the dark to emphasize her heartfelt “yes, indeed,” with a hug, and to seal the restless eyelids down with a kiss--the only way to make them stay shut.
Richard came back the next day. He brought a picture to Georgina from Mr. Locke. It was the copy of the illustration he had promised her, the fairy shallop with its sails set wide, coming across a sea of Dreams, and at the prow, white-handed Hope, the angel girt with golden wings, which swept back over the sides of the vessel.
“Think of having a painting by the famous Milford Norris Locke!” exclaimed Barby. She hung over it admiringly. “Most people would be happy to have just his autograph.” She bent nearer to examine the name in the corner of the picture. “What’s this underneath? Looks like number IV.”