“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.  And then he went to shooting peas at us, and he got Bridget real mad, and Ralph had to clear out, to study his lesson.  I told him—­”

“There, there, George, that will do,” replied his mother; “I am sick of hearing these complaints.  Oscar, why is it that I can’t stir out of the house, when you are at home, without your making trouble with Bridget or the children?  I do wish you would try to behave yourself properly.  You are getting the ill-will of everybody in the house, by your bad conduct.  I really believe your brothers and sisters will begin to hate you, before long, if you keep on in this way.  For your own sake, if for nothing more, I should think you would try to do better.  If I were in your place, I would try to keep on good terms with my brothers and sisters, if I quarrelled with everybody else.”

Oscar made no reply to this, and the subject was soon dropped.  His mother was too much accustomed to such complaints of his misconduct, to think very seriously of them; and he was himself so used to such mild rebukes as the foregoing, that they made little impression upon his mind.  The boys, who all slept in one chamber, soon retired for the night; but Oscar took no further notice of the occurrences of the evening, except to apply the nickname of “mammy’s little tell-tale” to George—­a title of contempt by which he often addressed his little brother.

I am afraid that the title of “tell-tale” was not wholly undeserved by George.  True, he often had just cause of complaint; but he was too ready to bring whining accusations against his brothers and sisters, for every trifling thing.  He complained so much that his mother could not always tell when censure was deserved.  It had become a habit with him, and a dozen times a day he would go to her, with the complaint that Oscar had been plaguing him, or Ella had got something that belonged to him, or Ralph would not do this or that.