That I purposed walking such a distance to see an insignificant
stream excited the surprise, even the friendly concern, of my
interlocutor; again and again he assured me it was not worth while,
repeating emphatically, "_Non c'e novita_." But I went my foolish
way. Of two or three peasants or fishermen on the road I asked the
name of the little river I was approaching; they answered,
"Gialtrezze." Then came a man carrying a gun, whose smile and
greeting invited question. "Can you tell me the name of the stream
which flows into the sea just beyond here?" "Signore, it is the
Galeso."
My pulse quickened with delight; all the more when I found that my
informant had no tincture of the classics, and that he supported
Galeso against Gialtrezze simply as a question of local interest.
Joyously I took leave of him, and very soon I was in sight of the
river itself. The river? It is barely half a mile long; it rises
amid a bed of great reeds, which quite conceal the water, and flows
with an average breadth of some ten feet down to the seashore, on
either side of it bare, dusty fields, and a few hoary olives.
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