Yes, Matty, if you like

Jean D’ensingé, Wood nuts from a fairy hazel bush, craked for little people, Londres, Hatchards, 1869.

The sun had come out but little during the whole day, and now the clouds came over heavier and heavier, and a few flakes of snow began to fall. This warned the birdies that they had better return home.
“Chirrup,” said Matty, “it begins to snow, and I am quite satisfied with my day’s provision. Hadn’t we better go home?”
“Yes, Matty; I was just going to say the same thing, only I’d got a nice caddis-worm, and couldn’t speak at the moment.”
“Are you going to wash in the running stream, Chirrup? I see a nice smooth pebble or two that the water keeps dashing over.”
“Yes, Matty, if you like. How fond you are of washing and making yourself neat, you vain little bird!”
“Never mind, Chirrup, now. How cold the water is! But so nice, isn’t it?”
The two birdies washed the mud from their feet and then both rose in the air, chipping and chirruping in the intense satisfaction at having found such a good day’s provision.