She turned again to her enchanted sandwich.

There was increased laughter in the air, and through it she heard the
hoarse and happy shouting of the sparrows in the spring-coloured tree
opposite. Sparrows are the ideal Naughty Poor, the begging friars, the
gypsies of the air, they claim alms as a right and as a seal of
friendship; with their mouths full of your crumbs they share with you
their innocent and vulgar wit, they give you in return no I.O.U., and no
particulars for your case-paper. When they have got from you all that
you will give, they wink and giggle and shake the dust of your
window-sill from off their feet.

Sarah Brown opened the office window, and the air of the office began at
once to dance with life and the noise of children and birds. She thought
perhaps these were magic noises, for she heard them so clearly. She
broke her second sandwich upon the window-sill, and the sparrows crossed
the street and stood on the area railing in a row below her, all
speaking at once in an effort to convey to her the fact that a retreat
on her part would be tactful.

The sparrow obviously buys all his clothes ready-made, probably at
Jumble Sales, and he always seems to choose clothes made for a stouter
bird. There is no reason why he should never look chic; he has a slimmer
figure than the bullfinch, for instance, who always manages to look so
well-tailored. It is just arrogance, pure Londonism, on the part of the
sparrow, just that impudent socialistic spirit that makes it so
difficult for us to reform the Naughty Poor.

Sarah Brown retreated one step. "I'm not going farther away. Either you
eat that sandwich with me looking on, or you leave it."