"Cut away!" exclaimed Grimaldi.
"Cut away is the word!" repeated Mr. Mackintosh.
"And why, pray?" asked Bologna.
"Why?" said Mr. Mackintosh. "Isn't the reason obvious?—Because you've killed the pigeons."
"But what has our killing these pigeons to do with cutting away?"
"Bless us!" cried Mackintosh, "you are not very bright to-day! Don't you see that when the squire comes to hear of it, he'll be very angry. Now, what can be plainer, if he is very angry, as I know he will be, then if you are here, he'll put you in prison? Don't you 'stand that. No, no: what I say is, cut away at once, and don't stop for him to catch you."
"Pooh!" said Bologna, with a contemptuous air, "I see you know nothing of the law. There's not a squire in all England who has power to put us in prison, merely because we have killed your pigeons, although we may not have taken out certificates."
"My pigeons!" exclaimed Mackintosh. "Lord help you! they're none o' mine!—they belong to the squire, and very fond of them he is, and precious savage he'll be when he finds out how you have been peppering them. So there I come back again to what I set out with. If you two lads will take my advice, now you've got your pigeons, you'll cut away with them."
The remarkable disclosure contained in this little speech fairly overwhelmed them; they stared at each other in stupid surprise, which shortly gave way first to anger and then to fear. They were greatly awed at contemplating the risk which they had incurred of being "sent to prison;" and after a few words of angry remonstrance addressed to Mr. Mackintosh, which that gentleman heard with a degree of composure and philosophy quite curious to behold, they concluded that they had better act upon his advice, and "cut away" at once.