His legs were swathed in the same green cloth as the upper garment.

His feet were sandalled.
My gaze returned to his face, and in it I found something subtly disturbing; an expression of half-malicious gaiety that underlay the wholly prepossessing features like a vague threat; a mocking deviltry that hinted at entire callousness to suffering or sorrow; something of the spirit that was vaguely alien and disquieting.
He spoke--and, to my surprise, enough of the words were familiar to enable me clearly to catch the meaning of the whole.

They were Polynesian, the Polynesian of the Samoans which is its most ancient form, but in some indefinable way--archaic.

Later I was to know that the tongue bore the same relation to the Polynesian of today as does _not_ that of Chaucer, but of the Venerable Bede, to modern English.
Nor was this to be so astonishing, when with the knowledge came the certainty that it was from it the language we call Polynesian sprang.
"From whence do you come, strangers--and how found you your way here ?" said the green dwarf.
I waved my hand toward the cliff behind us.

His eyes narrowed incredulously; he glanced at its drop, upon which even a mountain goat could not have made its way, and laughed.
"We came through the rock," I answered his thought.