It is useless to question what turmoil of wind or vagary of wing brought them to this desert hill instead of to a place more worthy of their grandeur, for, indeed, they were gorgeously apparelled in silken robes of scarlet and gold and purple; upon their heads were crowns high in form and of curious, intricate workmanship, and their wings, stretching ten feet on either side, were of many and shining colours.
Enough that here they did land, and in this silence and darkness they stood for a few moments looking about them.
Then one spoke:
"Art," said he, "we were too busy coming down to look about us carefully; spring up again a little way, and see if there is any house in sight."
At the word one of the three stepped forward a pace, and leaped twenty feet into the air; his great wings swung out as he leaped, they beat twice, and he went circling the hill in steady, noiseless flight.
He returned in a minute:
"There are no houses here, but a little way below I saw a fire and two people sitting beside it."
"We will talk to them," said the other. "Show the way, Art."
"Up then," said Art.
"No," said the Angel who had not yet spoken. "I am tired of flying. We will walk to this place you speak of."