Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the second chapter of Little Women.

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Today we'll be continuing Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

Two a Merry Christmas.

Joe was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning.

No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago when her little sock fell down because it was so crammed with goodies.

Then she remembered her mother's promise and slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson covered book.

She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guidebook for any pilgrim going the long journey.

She woke Meg with A Merry Christmas and bader see what was under her pillow.

A green covered book appeared with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother which made their one present very precious in their eyes.

Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage and find their little books also.

One dove colored the other blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the coming day.

In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, while unconsciously influenced by her sisters, especially Joe, who loved her very tenderly and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.

Girls, said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little night capped ones in the room beyond.

Mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once.

We used to be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things.

You can do as you please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read a little every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good and help me through the day.

Then she opened her new book and began to read.

Jo put her arm round her and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also with a quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.

How good Meg is.

Come, Amy, let's do as they do.

I'll help you with the hard words, and I'll explain things if we don't understand, whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sister's example.

I'm glad mine is blue, said Amy.

And then the rooms were very still, while the pages were softly turned and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.

Where is Mother?

Asked Meg, as she and Joe ran down to thank her for their gifts half an hour later.

Goodness only knows some poor creature come a begging and your ma went straight off to see what was needed.

There never was such a woman for giving away vittles and drink clothes and firing, replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.

She'll be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes and have everything ready, said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time.

Why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne?

She added, as the little flask did not appear.

She took it out a minute ago and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion, replied Joe, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army slippers.

How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they?

Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself, said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.

Bless the child.

She's gone and put Mother on them instead of M.

March.

How funny.

Cried Joe, taking one up.

Isn't it right?

I thought it was better to do it so because Meg's initials are Mm and I don't want anyone to use these but Marmi, said Beth, looking troubled.

It's all right, dear.

And a very pretty idea.

Quite sensible, too, for no one can ever mistake now.

It will please her very much.

I know, said Meg, with a frown for Joe and a smile for Beth.

There's Mother.

Hide the basket, quick.

Cried Joe as a door slammed and steps sounded in the hall.

Amy came in hastily and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.

Where have you been and what are you hiding behind you?

Asked Meg, surprised to see by her hood and cloak that lazy Amy had been out so early.

Don't laugh at me, Joe.

I didn't mean anyone should know till the time came.

I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish anymore.

As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot and Joe pronounced her a trump, while Beth ran to the window and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.

You see, I felt ashamed of my present after reading and talking about being good this morning, so I ran round to the corner and changed it the minute I was up.

And I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest now.

Another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.

Merry Christmas, Marmi.

Many of them thank you for our books.

We read some and mean to every day.

They cried in chorus.

Merry Christmas, little daughters.

I'm glad you began at once and hope you will keep on, but I want to say one word before we sit down.

Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby.

Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire.

There's nothing to eat over there.

And the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold.

My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?

They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke.

Only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, I'm so glad you came before we began.

May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?

Asked Beth eagerly.

I shall take the cream and the muffins, added Amy, heroically giving up the article she most liked.

Meg was already covering the buckwheats, impiling the bread into one big plate.

I thought you'd do it, said Mrs March, smiling as if satisfied.

You shall all go and help me, and when we come back, we will have bread and milk for breakfast and make it up at dinner time.

They were soon ready, and the procession set out.

Fortunately, it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party.

A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.

How big the eyes stared, and the blue lips smiled as the girl went in, said the poor woman, crying for joy.

Funny angels and hoods and mittens, said Joe, and set them laughing in a few minutes.

It really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there.

Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak.

Mrs.

March gave the mother tea and gruel and comforted her with promises of help while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own.

The girls mean Time spread the table, set the children round the fire and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking and trying to understand the funny broken English.

Thou saysest good.

The English kinder cried the poor things as they ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze.

The girls had never been called angel children before and thought it very agreeable especially Jo, who had been considered a sancho ever since she was born.

That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it.

And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.

That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it, said Meg as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor hummels.

Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums and trailing vines which stood in the middle gave quite an elegant air to the table.

She's coming.

Strike up, Beth.

Open the door.

Amy.

Three cheers for Marmie.

Cried Joe, prancing about while Meg went to conduct Mother to the seat of honor.

Beth played her gayest march.

Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity.

Mrs.

March was both surprised and touched and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presence and read the little notes which accompanied them.

The slippers went on at once.

A new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket while scented with Amy's cologne.

The rose was fastened in her bosom and the nice gloves were pronounced a perfect fit.

There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.

The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities.

Being still too young to go often to the theater and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, a necessity being the mother of invention made whatever they needed.

Very clever were some of their productions pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old fashioned butterboards covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond shaped bits left in sheets.

When the lids of tin preserve pots were cut out, the furniture was used to being turned topsy turvy, and the big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels.

No gentlemen were admitted, so Joe played male parts to her heart's content and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather boots given her by a friend who knew a lady who knew an actor.

These boots in old foil and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were Joe's chief treasures and appeared on all occasions.

The smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes and managing the stage besides.

It was an excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely or spent in less profitable society.

On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed, which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy.

There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lampsmoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment.

Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the operatic tragedy began.

A gloomy wood, according to one playbill, was represented by a few shrubs and pots, green bathes on the floor and a cave in the distance.

This cave was made with a clotheshorse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in.

It was a small furnace in full blast with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over it.

The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the Ketle.

When the witch took off the COVID a moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside.

Then Hugo the villain stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouched hat, black beard, mysterious cloak and the boots.

After pacing to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred to Rodrigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other.

The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience applauded the moment.

He paused for breath, bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding.

What ho, minion, I need thee.

Out came Meg, with gray horse hair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff and cableistic signs upon her cloak.

Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him and one to destroy Rodrigo.

Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both and proceeded to call upon the spirit who would bring the love filter.

Hither, hither, from thy home airy sprite I bid thee come.

Born of roses, fed on dew charms and potions canst thou brew.

Bring me here with elf in speed the fragrant filter which I need, make it sweet and swift and strong.

Spirit, answer now my song.

A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head.

Waving a wand, it sang hither, I come from my airy home afar in the silver moon.

Take the magic spell and use it well, or its power will vanish soon.

And dropping a small gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished.

Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black impaired, and having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with a mocking laugh.

Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots, hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him and intends to thwart his plans and be revenged on him.

Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play.

A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentering had been got up, no one murmured at the delay.

It was truly superb.

A tower rose to the ceiling.

Halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning at it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Rodrigo.

He came in gorgeous array with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut, love locks, a guitar, and the boots, of course.

Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones.

Zara replied, and after a musical dialogue, consented to fly.

Then came the grand effect of the play.

Rodrigo produced a rope ladder with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend.

Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Rodrigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully downwind.

Alas.

Alas for Zara.

She forgot her train.

It caught in the window.

The tower tottered leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins.

A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck, and a golden head emerged, exclaiming I told you so.

I told you so.

With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter with a hasty aside.

Don't laugh, act as if it was all right and ordering Rodrigo up, banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn.

Though decidedly shaken by the fall of the tower upon him, rodrigo defied the old gentleman and refused to stir.

This dauntless example fired zara she also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle.

A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.

Act third was the castle hall and here Hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo.

She hears him coming and hides, sees him put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid little servant.

They hurry them to the captives in their cells and tell them, I shall come anon.

The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and Hagar changes the cups for two others, which are harmless for Danando.

The minion carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Rodrigo.

Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.

This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death.

He was called before the curtain and with great propriety appeared leading Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together.

Act four displayed the despairing Rodrigo on the point of stabbing himself because he's been told that Zara has deserted him.

Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that Zara is true, but in danger and he can save her if he will.

A key is thrown in which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love.

Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro.

He wishes her to go into a covenant, but she won't hear of it and after a touching appeal, is about to faint when Rodrigo dashes in and demands her hand.

Don Pedro refuses because he is not rich.

They shout and gesticulate tremendously, but cannot agree.

And Rodrigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared.

The latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair and an awful doom to Don Pedro if he doesn't make them happy.

The bag is opened and several quarts of tin money showered down upon the stage till it is quite glorified with the glitter.

This entirely softens the stern, sire he can sense without a murmur.

All join in joyful chorus and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing and attitudes of the most romantic grace.

Tumultuous applause followed, but received an unexpected check for the cot bed on which the dress circle was built suddenly shot up and extinguished the enthusiastic audience.

Rodrigo and Don Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter.

The excitement had hardly subsided when Hannah appeared with Mrs.

March's compliments and would the ladies walk down to supper.

This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table they looked at one another in rapturous amazement.

It was like marmi to get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was unheard of since the departed days of plenty.

There was ice cream, actually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit and distracting French bon bonds and in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot house flowers.

It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely.

Is it fairies?

Asked Amy.

It's.

Santa Claus said beth.

Mother did it.

And Meg smiled her sweetest in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows.

Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper.

Cried Joe with a sudden inspiration.

All wrong.

Old Mr.

Lawrence sent it, replied Mrs.

March.

The Lawrence boy's grandfather.

What in the world put such a thing into his head?

We don't know him.

Exclaimed Meg.

Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party.

He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him.

He knew my father years ago and he sent me a polite note this afternoon saying he hoped I would allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day.

I could not refuse.

And so you have a little feast at night to make up for the bread and milk breakfast.

That boy put it into his head.

I know he did.

He's a capital fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted.

He looks as if he'd like to know us, but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when we pass, said Joe as the plates went round and the ice began to melt out of sight with o's and AWS of satisfaction.

You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't you?

Asked one of the girls.

My mother knows old Mr.

Lawrence, but says he's very proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors.

He keeps his grandson shut up when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor and makes him study very hard.

We invited him to our party, but he didn't come.

Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls.

Our cat ran away once and he brought her back and we talked over the fence and were getting on capital E, all about cricket and so on, when he saw Meg coming and walked off.

I mean to know him someday, for he needs fun.

I'm sure he does, said Joe decidedly.

I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so I've no objection to your knowing him if a proper opportunity comes.

He brought the flowers himself and I should have asked him in if I had been sure what was going on upstairs.

He looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own.

It's a mercy you didn't, Mother, laughed Joe, looking at her boots.

But we'll have another play sometime that he can see.

Perhaps he'll help act.

Wouldn't that be jolly?

I never had such a fine bouquet before.

How pretty it is.

And Meg examined her flowers with great interest.

They are lovely, but Beth's roses are sweeter to me, said Mrs.

March, smelling the half dead posey in her belt.

Beth nestled up to her and whispered softly I wish I could send my bunch to Father.

I'm afraid he isn't having such a Merry Christmas as we are.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Little Women.

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