Bim, because he was quieter than the other children, claimed for his opinions and movements the stronger interest.
His nurses called him "deep," "although for a deep child I must say he's 'appy." Both his depth and his happiness were at Lucy's complete disposal.

The people who saw him in the Square called him "a jolly little boy," and, indeed, his appearance of gravity was undermined by the curl of his upper lip and a dimple in the middle of his left cheek, so that he seemed to be always at the crisis of a prolonged chuckle.

One very rarely heard him laugh out loud, and his sturdy, rather fat body was carried rather gravely, and he walked contemplatively as though he were thinking something out.

He would look at you, too, very earnestly when you spoke to him, and would wait a little before he answered you, and then would speak slowly as though he were choosing his words with care.
And yet he was, in spite of these things, really a "jolly little boy." His "jolliness" was there in point of view, in the astounding interest he found in anything and everything, in his refusal to be upset by any sort of thing whatever.
But his really unusual quality was his mixture of stolid English matter-of-fact with an absolutely unbridled imagination.

He would pursue, day by day, week after week, games, invented games of his own, that owed nothing, either for their inception or their execution, to any one else.