Mrs. McGregor took hold of the sack and felt it. She said she could feel six, but they must be old rabbits, because they were so hard and all different shapes.
“Not fit to eat; but the skins will do fine to line my old cloak.”
“Line your old cloak?” shouted Mr. McGregor—“I shall sell them and buy myself baccy!”
“Rabbit tobacco! I shall skin them and cut off their heads.”