16 Little Women Read By Stephanie Poppins

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now,

And nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now,

And nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter Eight Continued No one spoke of the great trouble,

Not even Mrs March,

For all had learned by experience that when Jo was in that mood,

Words were wasted,

And the wisest course was to wait until some little accident,

Or her own generous nature,

Softened Jo's resentment and healed the breach.

It was not a happy evening,

For though they sewed as usual while their mother read aloud,

Something was wanting and the sweet home peace was disturbed.

They felt this most when singing time came,

For Beth could only play.

Jo stood dumb as a stone and Amy broke down,

So Meg and Mother sang alone.

But in spite of their efforts to be as cheery as larks,

The flute-like voices did not seem to call as well as usual,

And all fell out of tune.

As Jo received her goodnight kiss,

Mrs March whispered gently,

My dear,

Don't let the sun go down again upon your anger.

Forgive each other,

Help each other and begin again tomorrow.

Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom and cry her grief and anger all away,

But tears were an unmanly weakness,

And she felt so deeply injured,

She really couldn't quite forgive Amy yet.

So she winked hard,

Shook her head and said gruffly,

It's an abominable thing and she don't deserve to be forgiven.

With that she marched off to bed and there was no merry or confidential gossip that night.

Amy was much offended,

Her overtures of peace had been repulsed,

And she began to wish she had not humbled herself,

She began to feel more injured than ever,

And to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which was particularly exasperating.

Jo meanwhile still looked like a thundercloud and nothing went well all day.

It was bitter cold in the morning,

She dropped her precious turnover in the gutter,

Aunt March had an attack of fidgets,

Meg was pensive,

Beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home,

And Amy kept making remarks about people who were always talking about being good,

And yet wouldn't try when other people set them a virtuous example.

Everyone is so hateful,

I'll ask Laurie to go skating,

She thought,

He's always kind and jolly,

He'll put me to rights I know,

And off she went.

Amy heard the clash of skates and looked around with impatient exclamation,

There,

She promised I should go next time,

For this is the last I shall have,

But it's no use to ask such a cross patch to take me.

Don't say that,

You were very naughty,

It's hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book,

Said Meg,

I think she might do it now and I guess she will if you try her at the right minute.

Why don't you go after them,

Don't say anything till Jo's got good natured with Laurie,

And then take a quiet minute and just kiss her or do something kind,

I'm sure she'll be friends again with all her heart.

I'll try,

Said Amy,

For the advice suited her,

And after a flurry to get ready she ran after the friends who were just disappearing over the hill.

It was not far to the river,

But both were ready before Amy reached them.

Jo saw her coming and turned her back,

Laurie did not see,

For he was carefully skating along the shore,

Sounding the ice,

For a warm smell had preceded the cold snap.

I'll go on the first bend and see if it's all right before we begin to race,

Amy heard him say as he shot away,

Looking like a young Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.

Jo heard Amy panting after her run,

Stamping her feet and blowing her fingers as she tried to put her skates on,

But she never returned and went slowly zigzagging down the river,

Taking a bitter,

Unhappy sort of satisfaction in Amy's troubles.

She had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession of her,

As evil thoughts and feelings always do,

Unless cast out at once.

As Laurie turned the bend he shouted back,

Keep near the shore,

It isn't safe in the middle.

Amy did not hear,

She was just struggling to her feet,

But Jo heard.

She glanced over her shoulder and the little demon she was harbouring said in her ear,

No matter whether she heard or not,

Let her take care of herself.

Laurie had vanished round the bend,

Jo was just at the turn and Amy,

Far behind,

Struck out towards the smoother ice in the middle.

For a minute Jo stood still with a strange feeling in her heart,

Then she resolved to go on,

But something held and turned her back,

Just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down with a sudden crash of rotten ice.

There was a splash of water and a cry that made Jo's heart stand still with fear.

She tried to call Laurie,

But her voice was gone.

She tried to rush forward,

But her feet seemed to have no strength in them,

And for a second she could only stand motionless,

Staring with a terror-stricken face at the little blue hood above the black water.

Then something rushed swiftly by her and Laurie's voice cried out,

Bring a rail,

Quick,

Quick!

How Jo did it she never knew,

But for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed,

Blindly obeying Laurie,

Who was still quite self-possessed.

Lying flat he held Amy up by his arm,

Till Jo dragged a rail from the fence and together they got the child out,

A lot more frightened than her.

We must walk her home as fast as we can,

Cried Laurie,

Wrapping his coat around Amy.

Parlour things on her while I get off these confounded skates.

Shivering,

Dripping and crying,

They got Amy home,

And after an exciting time of it she fell asleep,

Rolled in blankets before a hot fire.

During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken,

But flown about looking pale and wild with her things half off,

Her dress torn and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles.

When Amy was completely comfortable,

The house was quiet and Mrs March,

Sitting by the bed,

She called Jo to her and began to bind up the hurt hands.

Are you sure she's safe?

Whispered Jo,

Looking remorsefully at the golden head,

Which might have been swept away from her sight forever under the treacherous ice.

Quite safe dear,

She's not hurt.

She won't even take a cold I think,

You were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly.

Laurie did it all,

I only let her go.

Mother,

If she should die,

It would be my fault.

Then Jo dropped down beside the bed in a passion of penitent tears,

Telling all that had happened,

Bitterly condemning her hardness of heart and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.

It's my dreadful temper,

She cried in despair,

I'll try to cure it,

I think I have and then it breaks out worse than ever,

Oh mother what shall I do?

Watch and pray dear,

Never get tired of trying and never think it's impossible to conquer your fault,

Said her mother,

Drawing the blousy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried harder than ever.

You don't know,

And you can't guess how bad it is,

It seems as though I could do anything when I'm in a passion,

I get so savage I could hurt anyone and enjoy it,

I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful one day and spoil my life and make everyone hate me,

Oh mother help me.

I will my child,

I will,

Don't cry so bitterly,

But remember this day,

You will never know another like it Jo dear,

We all have our temptations,

Some far greater than yours and it often takes us all our lives to conquer them.

You think your temper's the worst in the world,

But mine used to be just like it.

Yours mother,

Why you're never angry?

I've been trying to cure it for 40 years and have only just succeeded in controlling it,

I am angry nearly every day of my life Jo,

But I've learned not to show it and I still hope learn not to feel it,

Though it may take me another 40 years to do that.

The patience and the humility of the face Jo loves so well was a better lesson to her than the wisest lecture and the sharpest reproof.

She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her,

The knowledge her mother had a fault like hers and tried to mend it.

That made her own so much easier to bear and strengthened her resolution to cure it,

Though 40 years seemed rather a long time.

Mother,

Are you angry when you fold your lips tight together and go out of the room sometimes?

Yes,

I've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips,

And when I feel they mean to break out against my will,

I just go away a minute and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked.

How did you learn to keep still?

That's what troubles me,

For the sharp words fly out before I know what I'm about,

And the more I say,

The worse I get till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and say dreadful things.

Tell me how you do it,

Mommy dear.

My good mother used to help me,

As you do us,

But I lost her when I was a little older than you are,

And for years I had to struggle on alone.

I was too proud to confess my weakness to anyone.

I had a hard time,

Jo,

And I shed a good many bitter tears over my failures,

In spite of my efforts I never seemed to get on.

And then your father came,

And I was so happy,

I found it easy to be good.

By and by,

When I had four little daughters around me,

And we were poor,

Then the old trouble began again,

For I'm not patient by nature.

It tried me very much to see my children wanting something.

Oh,

Poor mother,

What helped you then?

Your father,

Jo,

He never loses patience,

He never doubts or complains,

But he always hopes and works and waits so cheerfully,

One is ashamed to do otherwise.

He helped and comforted me,

And showed me I must try to practice all the virtues I would my little girls possess,

For I am your example.

It's easier to try for your sakes than for my own.

A startled or surprised look from one of you when I speak sharply rebukes me more than any words could have done,

And the love,

Respect and confidence of my children is the sweetest reward I can receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy.