It was as though a huge giant had suddenly lifted him up by the seat of his breeches, or a witch had transplanted him on to her broomstick and carried him off.

It was as unusual as that.
His under lip began to quiver, and he knew that presently he would be crying.

Then, as he always did, when something unusual occurred to him, he thought of "Mr.Jack." At this point, when you ask him what happened, he always says: "Oh! He came, you know--came walking along--like he always did." "Was he just like other people, Bim ?" "Yes, just.

With a beard, you know--just like he always was." "Yes, but what sort of things did he wear ?" "Oh, just ord'nary things, like you." There was no sense of excitement or wonder to be got out of him.

It was true that Mr.Jack hadn't shown himself for quite a long time, but that, Bim felt, was natural enough.