"Fen-land's fen-land; and you can't dree-ern that." "You can't dree-ern that," said John Warren, nodding his head in assent. "Well, they'll drain these fields, at all events," said Hickathrift. "Yow can't say they weant do that." "I say fen-land's fen-land," reiterated Dave, taking off his fox-skin cap and rubbing his ear viciously; "and it can't be dree-ernt."
When they reached the dyke where the men were standing delving out the peat, it was to find a group of three fresh arrivals in the persons of Hickathrift the wheelwright, Dave, and John Warren, and all in earnest converse upon some subject. "Yow may say what yow like," cried Dave, "but fen-land's fen-land, and meant for the wild birds." "And rabbuds," put in John Warren.