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Updated: May 2, 2025
I looked at Oscar, who had followed me. The driver of the cart had, on his own acknowledgment, been investigated and questioned by this extraordinary child; strolling up to the door of Browndown to see what he was doing there. Jicks was a public character at Dimchurch. The driver knew all about her.
After looking all round the room, he suddenly addressed himself to me. "Madame Pratolungo!" he exclaimed. "What has become of Jicks?" I had completely forgotten the child. I too looked round the room, and satisfied myself that she had really disappeared. Mrs. Finch, observing our astonishment, timidly enlightened us. The maternal eye had seen Jicks slip out cunningly at Herr Grosse's heels.
On the morning of the third day, the doctor's prophecy was all but fulfilled, through the medium of the wandering Arab of the family, our funny little Jicks. While Lucilla and I were strolling about the garden with Oscar, the child suddenly darted out on us from behind a tree, and, seizing Oscar round the legs, hailed him affectionately at the top of her voice as "The Blue Man!"
Finch's commands and of humouring the child's whim, by carrying Jicks out of the room, when I was startled by a sound from the bed-chamber the sound, loud and peremptory, of Lucilla's voice. "Let go of me!" she cried. "I am a woman I won't be treated like a child." There was a moment of silence followed by the rustling sound of her dress, approaching us along the corridor.
I went out again, to walk about, and get the better of it there. A small object attracted my attention, crouched up on one of the window seats. The small object was Jicks. I suppose the child's instinct must have told her that something had gone wrong. She looked furtively sideways at me, round her doll: she had grave doubts of my intentions towards her.
I gave him a reassuring squeeze of the hand, and, putting Jicks down on the floor, rose to welcome our good Grosse. The child, as it happened, was beforehand with me. She and the illustrious oculist had met in the garden at one of the German's professional visits to Lucilla, and had taken an amazing fancy to each other.
Oscar walked off with his prisoner to the house. Jicks trotted along by his side, unconscious of the mischief she had done, singing another verse of the nursery song. I rejoined Lucilla, with my mind made up as to the line of conduct I should adopt in the future.
Without her novel, without her jacket, petticoat, or shawl, without even the handkerchief which she was always losing clothed, for the first time in my experience, in a complete gown the metamorphosis of damp Mrs. Finch was complete. But for the baby, I believe I should have taken her, in the dim light, for a stranger! "Jicks wants to come in."
While Oscar ran into the kitchen for some milk, I succeeded in discovering the identity of "Jicks." Something I cannot well explain what in the manner in which the child had drifted into the room with her doll, reminded me of the lymphatic lady of the rectory, drifting backwards and forwards with the baby in one hand and the novel in the other.
Arm in arm, the two ruffians walked off together in the direction of the village. Our funny little Jicks became a tragic and terrible Jicks, all on a sudden. The child resented the insolence of the two men as if she really understood it. I never saw so young a creature in such a furious passion before. She picked up a stone, and threw it at them before I could stop her.
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