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

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My name is Brie Carlyle and I love to read and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

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Today we'll be continuing Little Women by Louisa May Alcott eleven Experiments The 1 June the kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and I'm free three months vacation.

How I shall enjoy it.

Exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm day to find Joe laid upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.

Aunt March went today, for which oh, be joyful, said Joe.

I was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her.

If she had, I should have felt as if I ought to do it, but Plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and I'd rather be excused.

We had a flurry getting the old lady off, and I had a fright every time she spoke to me, for I was in such a hurry to be through, that I was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she'd find it impossible to part from me.

I quaked till she was fairly in the carriage and had a final fright, for as it drove off she popped out her head, saying, Josie fiend, won't you?

I didn't hear anymore, for I basically turned and fled.

I did actually run and whisked round the corner where I felt safe.

Poor old Joe.

She came in looking as if bears were after her, said Beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air aunt March is a regular Sam fire, is she not?

Observed Amy, tasting her mixture critically.

She means vampire, not seaweed.

But it doesn't matter.

It's too warm to be particular about one's parts of speech, murmured Joe.

What shall you do all your vacation?

Asked Amy.

Changing the subject.

I shall lie a bed late and do nothing, replied Meg from the depths of the rocking chair.

I've been routed up early all winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now I'm going to rest and revel to my heart's content.

No, said Joe.

That dozy way wouldn't suit me.

I've laid in a heap of books and I'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in the old apple tree when I'm not having don't say larks, implored Amy as she returned snub for the Samfire correction.

I'll say nightingale's, then with Lori.

That's proper and appropriate, since he's a warbler.

Don't let us do any lessons, Beth, for a while, but play all the time and rest as the girls mean to, proposed Amy.

Well, I will if Mother doesn't mind.

I want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer.

They are dreadfully out of order and really suffering for clothes.

May we, mother?

Asked Meg, turning to Mrs March, who sat sewing in what they called Marmi's Corner.

You may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it.

I think by Saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all work and no play.

Oh, dear, no.

It will be delicious, I'm sure, said Meg complacently.

I now propose a toast, as my friend and partner Sari Gamp says, fun forever and no grubbing.

Cried Joe, rising glass in hand as the lemonade went round.

They all drink it merrily and began the experiment by Lounging for the rest of the day.

Next morning, Meg did not appear till 10:00, her solitary breakfast did not taste nice, and the room seemed lonely and untidy, for Joe had not filled the vases, Beth had not dusted, and Amy's books lay scattered about.

Nothing was neat and pleasant but Marmi's Corner, which looked as usual, and there Meg sat to rest and read, which meant yawn, and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with her salary.

Joe spent the morning on the river with Lori, and the afternoon reading and crying over the wide, wide world up in the apple tree.

Beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family resided.

But getting tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy turvy and went to her music.

Rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash, amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls and sat down to draw under the honeysuckles, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was, as no one appeared but an inquisitive Daddy Longlegs, who examined her work with interest.

She went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping at tea time.

They compared notes and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long day.

Meg, who went shopping in the afternoon and got a sweet blue muslin, had discovered, after she had cut the breaths off, that it wouldn't wash, which mishap made her slightly cross.

Joe had burnt the skin off her nose boating and got a raging headache by reading too long.

Beth was worried by the confusion of her closet and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and Amy deeply regretted the damage done.

Her frock for Katie Brown's party was to be the next day, and now, like Flora Mcflimsey, she had nothing to wear.

But these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the experiment was working.

Finally, she smiled, said nothing, and with Hannah's help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and the domestic machinery running smoothly.

It was astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the resting and reveling process.

The days kept getting longer and longer, the weather was unusually variable, and so were tempers.

An unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and Satan found plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do as the height of luxury.

Meg put out some of her sewing and then found time to hang so heavily that she felt a snipping and spoiling her clothes in her attempts to furbish them up.

Alamoff it.

Jo read till her eyes gave out, and she was sick of books got so fidgety that even good natured Lori had a quarrel with her and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she had gone with Aunt March.

Beth got on pretty well, for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fell back into her old ways now and then.

But something in the air affected her, and more than once her tranquility was much disturbed, so much so that on one occasion she actually shook poor dear Joanna and told her she was afraight.

Amy fared worst of all, for her resources were small, and when her sisters left her to amuse and care for herself, she soon found that accomplished an important little self a great burden.

She didn't like dolls, fairy tales were childish, and one couldn't draw all the time.

Tea parties didn't amount to much.

Neither did picnics, unless very well conducted.

If one could have a fine house full of nice girls or go traveling, the summer would be delightful.

But to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a grown up boy was enough to try the patience of a boaz, complained Miss Malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting and enui.

No one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by Friday night, each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was nearly done.

Hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, mrs.

March, who had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriate manner.

So she gave Hannah a holiday, let the girls enjoy the full effect of the play system.

When they got up on Saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen.

Mercy on us.

What has happened?

Cried Joe, staring about her in dismay.

Meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved, but rather bewildered and a little ashamed.

Mother isn't sick, only very tired, and she says she's going to stay quietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can.

It's a very queer thing for her to do.

She doesn't act a bit like herself, but she says that it's been a hard week for her, so we mustn't grumble, but take care of ourselves.

That's easy enough.

And I like the idea.

I'm aching for something to do.

That is some new amusement, you know, added Joe quickly.

In fact, it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of Hannah saying, housekeeping ain't no joke.

There was plenty of food in the larder, and while Beth and Amy sat the table, meg and Joe got breakfast, wondering as they did so why servants ever talked about hard work.

I shall take some up to Mother, though she said we were not to think of her, for she'd take care of herself, said Meg, who presided and felt quite matronly behind the teapot.

So a tray was fitted out before anyone began and taken up with the cook's compliments.

The boiled tea was very bitter, the omelet scorched and the biscuits speckled with salaratus.

But Mrs.

March received her repast with thanks and laughed heartily over it after Joe was gone.

Poor little souls.

They will have a hard time, I'm afraid, but they won't suffer, and it will do them good, she said, producing the more palatable vines with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the bad breakfast so that their feelings might not be hurt.

A motherly little deception for which they were grateful.

Many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook at her failures.

Never mind.

I'll get the dinner and be servant you'll be mistress.

Keep your hands nice, see company and give orders, said Joe, who knew still less than Meg about culinary affairs.

This obliging offer was gladly accepted and Margaret retired to the parlour, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the sofa and shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting jo, with perfect faith in her own powers in a friendly desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note in the office inviting Lori to dinner.

You'd better see what you've got before you think of having company, said Meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act.

Oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes, and I shall get some asparagus and a lobster for a relish, as Hannah says.

We'll have lettuce and make a salad.

I don't know how, but the book tells.

I'll have blanc, mange and strawberries for dessert, and coffee too, if you want to be elegant.

Don't try too many messes, Joe, for you can't make anything but gingerbread and molasses candy fit to eat.

I wash my hands of the dinner party, and since you've asked Lori on your own responsibility, you may just take care of him.

I don't want you to do anything but be sizzle to him and help to the pudding.

You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?

Asked Joe.

Rather hurt, yes, but I don't know much except about bread and a few trifles.

You'd better ask Mother's leave before you order anything, returned Meg prudently.

Of course I shall.

I'm not a fool.

And Joe went off in a huff at the doubts expressed of her powers.

Get what you like and don't disturb me.

I'm going out to dinner and can't worry about things at home, said Mrs.

March when Joe spoke to her.

I never enjoyed housekeeping, and I'm going to take a vacation today and read, write, go visiting and amuse myself.

The unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably and reading early in the morning made Jo feel as if some natural phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake or volcanic eruption would hardly have seemed stranger.

Everything is out of sorts somehow, she said to herself, going downstairs, there's Beth crying.

That's a sure sign that something is wrong with this family.

If Amy is bothering, I'll shake her.

Feeling very much out of sorts herself, Joe hurried into the parlor to find Beth sobbing over Pip the canary, who lay dead in the cage with his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of which he had died.

It's all my fault.

I forgot him.

There isn't a seed or a drop left.

Oh, Pip, oh, Pip, how could I be so cruel to you?

Cried Beth, taking the poor thing in her hands and trying to restore him.

Joe peeped into his half open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiff and cold, shook her head and offered her domino box for a coffin.

Put him in the oven and maybe he'll get warm and revive, said Amy hopefully.

He has been starved, and he shan't be baked now he's dead.

I'll make him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden.

And I'll never have another bird, never, my Pip, for I'm too bad to own one, murmured Beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands.

The funeral should be this afternoon, and we will all go.

Now, don't cry, Bethy.

It's a pity, but nothing goes right this week and PIPP has had the worst of the experiment.

Make the shroud and lay him in my box.

And after the dinner party we'll have a nice little funeral, said Joe, beginning to feel as if she had undertaken a good deal.

Leaving the others to console Beth, she departed to the kitchen, which was in a most discouraging state of confusion.

Putting on a big apron, she fell to work and got the dishes piled up, ready for washing when she discovered that the fire was out.

Here's a sweet prospect, muttered Joe, slamming the stove door open and poking vigorously among the senders.

Having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the water heated.

The walk revived her spirits and flattering herself that she had made good bargains.

She trudged home again after buying a very young lobster, some very old asparagus and two boxes of acid strawberries.

By the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived and the stove was red hot.

Hannah had left a pan of bread to rise.

Meg had worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second, rising and forgotten it.

Meg was entertaining Sally Gardner in the parlor when the door flew open and a flowery crocky, flushed and disheveled figure appeared, demanding tartly.

I say, isn't bread rise enough when it runs over the pans?

Sally began to laugh, but Meg nodded and lifted her eyebrows as high as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish and put the sour bread into the oven without further delay.

Mrs.

March went out after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word of comfort to Beth, who sat making a winding sheet while the deer departed lay in a state in the domino box.

A strange sense of helplessness fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner and despair seized them when, a few minutes later, Miss Crocker appeared and said she'd come to dinner.

Now, this lady was a thin yellow spinster with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes who saw everything and gossiped about all she saw.

They disliked her, but had been taught to be kind to her simply because she was old and poor and had few friends.

So Meg gave her the easy chair and tried to entertain her while she asked questions, criticized everything and told stories of the people whom she knew.

Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences and exertions which Joe underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became a standing joke.

Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone and discovered that something more than energy and goodwill is necessary to make a cook.

She boiled the asparagus for an hour and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever, the bread burnt black for the salad dressing, so aggravated her that she let everything else go till she had convinced herself that she could not make it fit to eat.

The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled, and its meager proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves.

The potatoes had to be hurried not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done.

At last the blanc monge was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having been skilfully deconned.

Well, they can eat beef and bread and butter if they're hungry.

Only it's mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing, thought Joe, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood hot, tired and dispirited, surveying the feasts spread.

For Lori, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and Miss Crocker, whose curious eyes would mark all failures and whose tattling tongue would report them far and wide, poor Joe would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after another was tasted and left.

While Amy giggled, Meg looked distressed, miss Crocker pursed up her lips, and Lori talked and laughed with all its might to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene jo's.

One strong point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well and had a pitcher of rich cream to eat with it.

Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath as the pretty glass plates went round and everyone looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream.

Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water hastily.

Joe, who had refused, thinking there might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Lori, but he was eating away, manfully, though there was a slight pucker about his mouth, and he kept his eye fixed on his plate.

Amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her napkin, and left the table precipitately.

Oh, what is it?

Exclaimed Joe, trembling.

Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour, replied Meg with a tragic gesture.

Joe uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she had given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator.

She turned scarlet and was on the verge of crying when she met Lori's eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts.

The comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.

So did everyone else, even Croaker, as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily with bread and butter, olives and fun.

I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober ourselves with a funeral, said Joe as they rose, and Miss Crocker made ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's dinner table, they did sober themselves for Beth's sake.

Lori dug a grave under the ferns in the grove.

Little Pip was laid in with many tears by his tender hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Joe, while she struggled with the dinner.

Here lies Pip March, who died the 7 June, loved and lamented soar and not forgotten.

Soon, at the conclusion of the ceremonies, beth retired to her room, overcome with emotion and lobster.

But there was no place of repose, for the beds were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up pillows and putting things in order.

Meg helped Joe clear away the remains of the feast, which took half the afternoon and left them so tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper.

Lori took Amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper.

Mrs.

March came home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the afternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of one part of the experiment.

Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see them.

Then tea must be got errands done, and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected till the last minute as twilight fell dewy.

And still one by one, they gathered in the porch, where the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled.

What a dreadful day this has been, began Joe, usually the first to speak.

It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable, said Meg.

Not a bit like home, added Amy.

It can't seem so without Marmi and little Pip, sighed Beth, glancing with full eyes at the empty cage above her head.

Here's the mother, dear, and you shall have another bird to morrow, if you want it.

As she spoke, Mrs.

March came and took her place among them, looking as if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs.

Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another week of it?

She asked, as Beth nestled up to her, and the rest turned toward her with brightening faces as flowers turned toward the sun.

I don't cried.

Joe.

Decidedly.

Nor I, echoed the others.

You think, then, that it is better to have a few duties and live a little for others, do you, lounging and Larking doesn't pay, observed Joe, shaking her head.

I'm tired of it, and I mean to go to work at something right off.

Suppose you learn plain cooking.

That's a useful accomplishment which no woman should be without, said Mrs.

March, laughing inaudibly at the recollection of Joe's dinner party, for she had met Miss Crocker and heard her account of it.

Mother, did you go away and let everything be just to see how we'd get on?

Cried Meg, who had suspicions all day.

Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing her share faithfully.

While Hannah and I did your work.

You got on pretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable.

So I thought as a little lesson I would show you what happens when everyone thinks only of herself.

Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes and to bear, and forbear that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all?

We do, Mother, we do, cried the girls.

Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for though they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us enlighten as we learn to carry them.

Work is wholesome and there's plenty for everyone.

It keeps us from enui and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and gives us a sense of power and independence better than money or fashion.

We'll work like bees and love it too.

See if we don't, said Joe, I'll learn plain cooking for my holiday task, and the next dinner party I have shall be a success.

I'll make the set of shirts for Father instead of letting you do it.

Marmi.

I can and I will, though I'm not fond of sewing.

That will be better than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as they are, said Meg.

I'll do my lessons every day and not spend so much time with my music and dolls.

I am a stupid thing and ought to be studying, not playing was Beth's resolution, while Amy followed their example by heroically declaring I shall learn to make buttonholes and attend to my parts of speech.

Very good then.

I'm quite satisfied with the experiment and fancy that we shall not have to repeat it.

Only don't go to the other extreme and delve like slaves.

Have regular hours for work and play.

Make each day both useful and pleasant and prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it.

Well, then youth will be delightful, old age will bring few regrets, and life will become a beautiful success in spite of poverty.

Well, remember, Mother and they did 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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