They were
dressed in black frocks and scarlet blouses, which set off
their beautiful small dark faces; their eyes sparkled like
black diamonds, and their loose hair was a wonder to see, a
black mist or cloud about their heads and necks composed of
threads fine as gossamer, blacker than jet and shining like
spun glass-hair that looked as if no comb or brush could ever
tame its beautiful wildness. And in spirit they were what
they seemed: such a wild, joyous, frolicsome spirit with such
grace and fleetness one does not look for in human beings, but
only in birds or in some small bird-like volatile mammal--a
squirrel or a marmoset of the tropical forest, or the
chinchilla of the desolate mountain slopes, the swiftest,
wildest, loveliest, most airy and most vocal of small
beasties. Occasionally to watch their wonderful motions more
closely and have speech with them, I followed when they raced
over the sands or flew about over the slippery rocks, and felt
like a cochin-china fowl, or muscovy duck, or dodo, trying to
keep pace with a humming-bird. Their voices were well suited
to their small brilliant forms; not loud, though high-pitched
and singularly musical and penetrative, like the high clear
notes of a skylark at a distance. They also reminded me of
certain notes, which have a human quality, in some of our
songsters--the swallow, redstart, pied wagtail, whinchat, and
two or three others.
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