THE CLEVER CABBAGE

It was the carrot that started it. He turned to the cabbage and said in a rather cross voice:

“You might trade places you know, you really might. No one likes cabbages half as much as carrots and there’s a dreadful mole that has been eyeing me for weeks and pinching me to see how fat I’m getting. It’s quite intolerable! Soon there will be nothing left of me at all!”

The cabbage was of a very round, sunny nature and so she agreed to change places with the carrot. She didn’t expect that it would be quite so damp and moist down there, smelling of worms, and carrot got a fright when he emerged into the sunlight.

“Me eyes, me eyes!” he said, “I’ve gone blind.”

He felt around and picked two pumpkin leaves to shade his eyes.

“That’s better,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” said the pumpkin rather crossly, “but we don’t just go picking leaves off people up here. It is considered rude! I don’t know about you underground types.”

“Well the onions keep to themselves,” the carrot said conversationally, “they have to you know – the S.M.E.L.L! And the garlic too. Same reason. But I can see why you like it up here all fresh – blue sky, yellow sun and what’s that?”

He pointed with leafy fingers .

“A bird,” the pumpkin said with some amusement, “They come here to nibble on us.”

“Nibble on us!” carrot was horrified, “What shall I do? That was never intended to be my destiny. I am grown for the plate of a king you know, not a silly old bird.”

“Well,” pumpkin mused, “You could change places with me, you see, seeing as I’m in the second row.”

The carrot was delighted and changed places at once. The birds pecked here and there, but not at him and the pumpkin suffered a few holes.

“Oh dear,” said the carrot, “Are you all right?”

“It’s just a tickle really,” pumpkin said, “I’ve got a strong root.”

“You won’t be saying that when the snails come along,” said the chives.

They were a nasty bunch, always making trouble.

“What snails?” said the carrot uneasily.

“Why the little slugs in shells that come oozing along and crunch you all up for their suppers,” the chives said and shivered together.

Pumpkin shivered a little too.

“They can cause damage,” he admitted.

“Then what am I to do? What am I to do?” carrot begged.

“Ask the tomatoes,” said the chives, “They can see a lot from up there.”

“The snails are on the move,” said a large, red-cheeked tomato. “Why don’t you climb up here with us?”

“Cheeky carrot,” the chives muttered, “ Who does he think he is climbing above his betters!”

“Just because you know the snails wouldn’t touch you – you’re far too bitter,” chuckled the pumpkin. “They can have some of my leaves, but the gardener had better swat them off my shell!”

“Where has the cabbage gone?” the pumpkin wondered, for they were quite good friends of the round and leafy variety. “Cabbage, where are you?”

“I’ve found the mole holes,” cabbage called, “Now I’m going to roll along down to the meadow and find a nice quiet spot where I can go to seed.”

“Mind my toes,” shrieked a chive.

“Watch out,” muttered a green bean.

But the clever cabbage was well and truly on her way to freedom.

And the carrot? It was said by the chives, that are a mean and bitter lot anyway, that the head chef desired a petit carrot to decorate the top of his carrot cake. So some may say the carrot had climbed to the top of culinary heights, but he always suspected it would be nestled next to other vegetables and of a hearty size. He felt rather puny on the cake, until the king clapped his hands with glee and said:

 “My favourite! Carrot cake! Congratulations mon chef,” and carrot took the centre stage demurely and blushed.