"Very well, I will follow the example of our friend Pepper and introduce myself at once. I am known as Ginger. I have relatives living in China, in India, and in the western part of Africa, but I came from the West Indies. The Ginger family is not like that of Pepper; it has no lofty notions."
Pepper seemed a little inclined to get angry, so Ginger hastened to say: "I mean that our vines do not climb trees or poles, but run along the ground. I was a root and not a fruit."
"When I was about a year old I, with countless friends, was dug from the ground. We were cut from the vines and put into vats of scalding water."
"That was dreadful," said Pepper.
"We were treated in that way to prevent us from sprouting," continued Ginger. "After being taken out of the water, we were thoroughly dried and then ground. We were then put up in cans and boxes and sold as Black Ginger. Others were scraped before being ground, and they were then called White Ginger.
"We were placed on board a great ship and finally landed at New York. After remaining in a large store there for some time, I was brought to the corner grocery, and so I found my way to this shelf.
"I am gradually wasting away, and I shall not last a great while longer. In my tropical home I seemed to be of no use to anybody, while now I am called for frequently by the cook, and my services seem to be appreciated, so I am happy."
"To be of some real use in this world is the greatest joy of life," remarked a strange voice.
There was silence for a moment, and then Ginger said "May we not hear from you, friend?"
"Your stories almost make me believe that I am still in the land of my birth," was the reply.