human
Do you think they'll do?
gpt
I don't think they will, she said after a pause.
human
But I'll tell you what we must do, Betty: we must get the right sort of soil for them--just the sandy soil they want. We'll go and consult Birchall; he is the oldest gardener in the place, and knows something about everything. For that matter, we are sure to get the sort of sand we require on this piece of waste ground--our 'forest primeval,' as Olive calls it.
gpt
Oh dear! said Betty, dashing away the tears from her eyes,
human
--she waved her hand in the direction of the uncultivated land--
gpt
Let's walk across it, said Margaret.
human
Olive can't be back for a minute or two.
gpt
Why should we walk across it?
human
I want to show you where some heather grows. It is certainly not rich, nor deep in color, nor beautiful, like yours; but it has grown in that particular spot for two or three years. I am quite sure that Birchall will say that the soil round that heather is the right sort of earth to plant your Scotch heather in.
gpt
Well, come, and let's be very quick,
human
I think, she said after a pause,
gpt
I don't want to consult Birchall. Then she added after another pause,
human
I think, on the whole, I'd much rather have no heather than plants like those. You are very kind, Margaret; but there are some things that can't be transplanted, just as there are some hearts--that break--yes, break--if you take them from home. That poor heather--once, doubtless, it was very flourishing; it is evidently dying now of a sort of consumption. Let's come back to our plots of ground, please, Margaret.