Ben laughed. “How funny you are, Gill,” said he. “You speak of these things just as if they were people.”
“Well, God has set them in families, and they are kind and agree together, and seem almost like people to me,” returned Gill. “You know I live among them, and talk to them and they to me. They speak marvelous things to me sometimes.”
The children looked amused. “What does the tomato say to you?” asked Sally.
“It says—‘I have come from South America, in my beautiful scarlet and orange dress. I love my own country with its snow-capped mountains, and its great rivers, and its fertile lands; but I thought I might as well travel to other parts of the earth, and let other people know my worth. One has not always the most honor in one’s own land. I lose a little of my acid and brisk flavor by coming away from home; but I gain in size and beauty by the care that is taken of me.’”
Ben made a face as he touched the leaves. “They have a vile odor,” he said.
“Let the leaves go,” said Gill, “and think of the good fruit. Never speak of faults, if you can help it; but rather find out every good quality. I think the tomato-vine very beautiful, as I train it against the trellises, and watch the green leaves spreading broader and broader, and the yellow blossoms in thick bunches, and then the fruit with its bright, shining skin. In Italy, England, and America, and in many other parts of the world, it is now considered a great luxury. We can eat it as Sally does, as if it were an apple; or, we can slice it, and have only salt upon it, or vinegar, or sugar, just as people fancy; and we can stew it, or bake it, or use it as a sauce for fish and meats. There never was a vegetable that we can employ in so many ways.”
Gill picked the ripe fruit very carefully and put it into baskets. “Mrs. Beth’s mouth will water when she sees these,” he said. “They are nicer than ever, it seems to me.”
Then he picked some of the egg-plant. He had famous skill with this. The vines had come to great perfection. The children had watched them from the beginning, and had noticed their oval cottony leaves, and the large white and purple flowers, and the violet and yellow and white fruit, for Gill had every variety. He told the children that in India it is served up with sugar and wine, or simply sugared water, and in the south of France with olive oil.
Sally liked the white fruit which looked like a pullet’s egg, but Ben preferred the large violet-colored, that Lucy sliced and fried brown in butter.
Gill said, “One must be careful about the white, for there is a species resembling it, that is poisonous, and some people have confounded it with the harmless thing.”