“Excuse me, sirs,” he said, as he advanced to them with his head uncovered; “what is it you want with my river?”

“Your river!” repeated the head of the group, and he smiled.  “How is it more yours than your fellows?”

Adone advanced nearer.

“The whole course of the water belonged to my ancestors,” he answered, “and this portion at least is mine now; you stand on my ground; I ask you what is your errand?”

He spoke with courtesy, but in a tone of authority which seemed to the intruders imperious and irritating.  But they controlled their annoyance; they did not wish to offend this haughty young peasant.

“To be owner of the water it is necessary to own both banks of it,” the stranger replied politely, but with some impatience.  “The opposite bank is communal property.  Do not fear, however, whatever your rights may be they will be carefully examined and considered.”

“By whom?  They concern only myself.”

“None of our rights concern only ourselves.  What are those which you claim in special on the Edera water?”

Adone was silent for a few moments; he was astonished and embarrassed; he had never reflected on the legal side of his claim to the river; he had grown up in love and union with it; such affections, born with us at birth, are not analysed until they are assailed.

“You are strangers,” he replied.  “But what right do you question me?  I was born here.  What is your errand?”

“You must be Adone Alba?” said the person, as if spokesman for the others.

“I am.”

“And you own the land known as the Terra Vergine?”

“I do.”

“You will hear from us in due time, then.  Meantime”

“Meantime you trespass on my ground.  Leave it, sirs.”

The four strangers drew a few paces, and conferred together in a low tone, consulting a sheaf of papers.  Their council over, he who appeared the most conspicuous in authority turned again to the young man, who was watching them with a vague apprehension which he could not explain to himself.

“There is no question of trespass; the river-side is free to all,” said the stranger, with some contempt.  “Courtesy would become you better, Sir Adone.”

Adone coloured.  He knew that courtesy was at all times wise, and useful, and an obligation amongst men; but his anger was stronger than his prudence and his vague alarm was yet stronger still.

“Say your errand with the water,” he replied imperiously.  “Then I can judge of it.  No one, sirs, comes hither against my will.”

“You will hear from us in due time,” answered the intruder.  “And believe me, young man, you may lose much, you cannot gain anything, by rudeness and opposition.”

“Opposition to what?”

The stranger turned his back upon him, rolled up his papers, spoke again with his companions, and lifted from a large stone on which he had placed it a case of surveyor’s instruments.  Adone went close up to him.  “Opposition to what?  What is it you are doing here?”