All the jumbled, distorted proportions of
things (like the reflection of a landscape in a crystal ball) is
capitally reproduced. The fantastically personifying fancy of childhood,
where does it have more delightful play? The radiance of an enchanted
fairy realm that bursts like an iridescent soap-bubble at the touch of
the finger of reason, where does it linger in more alluring beauty than
in "Ole Lukoeie" ("The Sandman"), "The Little Mermaid," or "The
Ice-Maiden"? There is a bloom, an indefinable, dewy freshness about the
grass, the flowers, the very light, and the children's sweet faces. And
so vivid--so marvellously vivid--as it all is. Listen to this from "Five
in a Pea-Pod:"
"There were five peas in one pod. They were green, and the pod was
green; and so they thought that the whole world was green. And that
was just as it should be. The pod grew and the peas grew; they
accommodated themselves to circumstances, sitting all in a row."
Or take this from "Little Tuk:"
"Yes, that was Little Tuk.
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