Mrs. Higgins was an incurable grumbler. She grumbled at everything and everyone. But at last the vicar thought he had found something about which she could make no complaint; the old lady's crop of potatoes was certainly the finest for miles round.
Ah, for once you must be well pleased, he said, with a beaming smile, as he met her in the village street. "Everyone's saying how splendid your potatoes are this year."
The old lady glowered at him as she answered:
They're not so poor. But where's the bad ones for the pigs?