You want to know what the fen was. Well. Sit you down, then, my bor, for it is not a short telling, and my old legs will not stand at it. You come in off that road out there thinking you have seen the fen, and I will not be unkind to you, but you have seen no such thing. You have seen a table. Flat and black and drilled straight as a hymn book, beet one field and potatoes the next and the celery under its fleece, and a great sky sat on top of it all like a lid on a pan. And i