Bridget, too, soon lost her patience, as the peas rattled upon the newly-swept floor.
"Git away with yer pays, Oscar," said she; "don't ye be clutterin' up the clane floor with 'em, that's a good b'y." "They aint 'pays,' they are _peas_," replied Oscar; "can't you say peas, Biddy ?" "I don't care what ye call 'em," said Bridget; "only kape the things in yer pocket, and don't bother me with 'em." "Who 's bothering you ?" said Oscar; "me 'pays' don't make any dirt--they 're just as clean as your floor." "Ye 're a sassy b'y, that's jist what ye are." "Well, what are you going to do about it ?" "Faith, if it was me that had the doin' of it, I bet I 'd larn ye better manners, ye great, impudent good-for-nothin', if I had to bate yer tin times a day." "You would n't, though, would you ?" said Oscar; and he continued the shower of peas until he had exhausted his stock, and then picked most of them up again, to serve for some future occasion.

He had hardly finished this last operation, when his mother, who had been out, returned home.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, George began to pour out his complaints to her.
"Mother," he said, "Oscar 's been plaguing us like everything, all the evening.

He got me down on the floor, and rubbed a hot pepper on my mouth, and tried to make me eat it.

And he's been rummaging all round the kitchen, trying to find some pie.