human
I find I get deeper and deeper into the soil every day, remarked the Carrot.
gpt
I shall be I don't know how long, at last. I have been going down regularly, quite straight, for weeks. Then I am tapering off to a long point at the end, in the most beautiful proportions possible. A traveller told me, the other day, this was perfection, and I believe he was right.
human
I knew what it was to live near the surface in my young days, the Carrot went on;
gpt
added he, good-naturedly enough,
human
I should like to know that your roots are as long, and slim, and orange-coloured as mine; doing as well, in fact, and sinking as far down. I wish us to be all perfect alike. Perfection is the great thing to try for.
gpt
When you are sure you are trying in the right way, sneered a voice from the neighbouring radish bed.
human
But if the long, slim, orange-roots striking deep into the earth are your idea of perfection, I advise you to begin life over again. Dear me! I wish you had consulted us before. Why, we stopped going down long ago, and have been spreading out sideways and all ways, into stout, round solid balls ever since, close white flesh throughout, inside; and not orange but red, without.
gpt
White, he means,
human
Red, I call it,
gpt
But no matter; certainly not orange!
human
So, continued the Radish,
gpt
Let me put in a word first, interrupted one of the long-tailed Radishes in the same bed;
human
You rather overwhelm me, mused the Carrot,
gpt
Not having tried, how can you tell?
human
But you never will, if you listen to our old-fashioned friend next door, who has been halting between two opinions all his life;—will neither make an honest fat lump of it, as I do, nor plunge down and taper with you. But nothing can be done without an effort.
gpt
That is true, murmured the Carrot, rather sadly;
human
Oh, nonsense about round balls! cried the long-tailed Radish in disgust;
gpt
There are strange delusions abroad just now, remarked the Onions to each other;
human
I have lived near you long enough, grumbled a deep-red Beet in the next bed;
gpt
Oh, don't call it red! exclaimed a golden Beet, who was of a gentle turn of mind;
human
Perhaps it was; for perhaps he calls red orange, as you call it amber, answered the redder Beet;
gpt
Do you hear them? oh! do you hear them? whispered the Cress to her neighbour the Mustard.
human
Do you hear how they all talk together of their growth, and their roots, and their bulbs, and size, and colour, and shape? It makes me quite unhappy, for I am doing nothing like that myself—nothing, nothing, though I live in the same soil! What is to be done? What do you do? Do you grow great white solid balls, or long orange tapering roots, or thick red flesh, or bulbs with layer upon layer, and coat over coat? Some of them talked of just throwing out a few fibres as a mere amusement to pass away time; and this is all I ever do for business. Do speak to me, but whisper what you say, for I shame to be heard or thought of.
gpt
I grow only fibres too, groaned the Mustard in reply;
human
Or we are weak and helpless, and cannot take in what it offers, suggested the Cress.
gpt
Alas! that we should have been sown only to be useless and unhappy!