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

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Today we'll be continuing little Women by Louisa May Alcott 22.

Pleasant meadows like sunshine after storm or the peaceful weeks which followed, the envelopes improved rapidly, and Mr.

March began to talk of returning early in the new year.

Beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself with the well beloved cats at first, and in time with dolls sewing, which had fallen sadly behind hand.

Her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that Joe took her a daily airing about the house.

In her strong arms, mag cheerfully blackened and burnt her white hands cooking delicate messes for the deer, while Amy, a loyal slave of the ring, celebrated her return by giving away as many of her treasures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept.

As Christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, and Joe frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible or magnificently absurd ceremonies in honor of this unusually merry Christmas.

Lori was equally impracticable and would have had bonfires, skyrockets and triumphal arches if.

He had his own way.

After many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered effectually quenched and went about with forlorn faces, which were rather belied by explosions of laughter.

When the two got together, several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendid Christmas day.

Hannah felt in her bones that it was going to be an unusually fine day and she proved herself a true prophetess for everybody, and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success.

To begin with, Mr.

March wrote that.

He should soon be with them.

Then Beth felt uncommonly well that morning, and being dressed in her mother's gift, a soft crimson merino wrapper was born in triumph to the window to behold the offering of Joe and Lori.

The unquenchables had done their best to be worthy of the name, for like elves they had worked by night and conjured up a comical surprise.

Out in the garden stood a stately SnowMaiden crowned with holly, bearing a basket of fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of new music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an afghan round her chilly shoulders, and a.

Christmas carol issuing from her lips on.

A pink paper streamer.

The Jung frowned to Beth god bless you, dear Queen bess.

May nothing you dismay but health and peace and happiness be yours this Christmas Day.

Here's fruit to feed our busy bee, and flowers for her nose.

Here's music for her piano and afghan for her toes.

A portrait of Joanna C by Raphael number two, who labored with great industry to make it fair and true except a ribbon red.

I beg for Madame Pure's tale.

An ice cream maid, my lovely peg a Mont blanc.

In a pail.

Their dearest love, my makers laid within my breast of snow.

Except it and the alpine maid from Lori and from Joe.

Beth laughed when she saw it, how Lori ran up and down to bring in the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches Joe made as she presented them.

I'm so full of happiness that if Father was only here, I couldn't hold one drop more, said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Joe carried her off to study the rest after the excitement and refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the Jung Frau had sent her.

So am I, added Joe, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the long desired undean and Centrim.

I'm sure I am, echoed Amy, poring over the engraved copy of the Madonna and Child, which her mother had given her in a pretty frame.

Of course I am.

Cried Meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first silk dress, for Mr.

Lawrence had insisted on giving it.

How can I be otherwise?

Said Mrs.

March, gratefully as her eyes went from her husband's letter to Beth's smiling face, and her hand caressed the brooch made of gray and golden chestnut and dark brown hair, which the girls had just fastened on her breast.

Now and then in this work a day world, things do happen in the delightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort that is.

Half an hour after everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold one drop more, the drop came.

Lori opened the parlor door and popped his head in very quietly.

He might just as well have turned a somersault and uttered an Indian war whoop for?

His face was so full of suppressed excitement and his voice so treacherously joyful that everyone jumped up, though he only said in a queer, breathless voice, here's another Christmas present for the March family.

Before the words were well out of his mouth.

He was whisked away somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, leaning on the arm of another tall man who tried to say something couldn't.

Of course, there was a general stampede, and for several minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things were done and no one said a word.

Mr.

March became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms.

Joe disgraced herself by nearly fainting away and had to be doctored by Lori in the china closet.

Mr.

Brooke kissed Meg entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently explained, and Amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father's boots in the most touching manner.

Mrs.

March was the first to recover.

Herself and held up her hand with a warning hush.

Remember Beth.

But it was too late.

A study door flew open.

The little red wrapper appeared on the threshold.

Joy put strength into the feeble limbs, and Beth ran straight into her father's arms.

Never mind what happened just after that, for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness of the past and leaving only the sweetness of the present.

It was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight again, for Hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the kitchen.

As the laugh subsided, mrs.

March began to thank Mr.

Brooke for his faithful care of her husband, at which Mr.

Brooke suddenly remembered that Mr.

March needed rest, and seizing Lori, he precipitately retired.

Then the two invalids were ordered to repose, which they did by both sitting in one big chair and talking hard.

Mr.

March told how he had longed to surprise them and how when the fine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantage of it.

How devoted Brooke had been and how he was altogether a most esteemable and upright young man.

Why, Mr.

March paused a minute just there and after a glance at Meg, who was violently poking the fire, looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows.

I leave you to imagine also why Mrs.

March gently nodded her head and asked rather abruptly if he wouldn't have something to eat.

Joe saw and understood the look, and.

She stalked grimly away to get wine.

And beef tea, muttering to herself as she slammed the door, I hate esteemable young men with brown eyes.

There never was such a Christmas dinner as they had that day.

The fat turkey was a sight to behold.

When Hannah sent him up.

Stuffed, browned and decorated, so was the plum pudding, which quite melted in one's mouth.

Likewise the jellies, in which Amy reveled like a fly in a honeypot.

Everything turned out well, which was a mercy, Hannah said, for by mind was that flustered mum that it's a miracle I didn't roast the pudding and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone violin of it in a cloth.

Mr Lawrence and his grandson dined with them.

Also Mr Brooke, at whom Joe glowered darkly to Lori's infinite amusement.

Two easy chairs stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat Beth and her father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit.

They drank healths, told stories, sung songs, reminisced, as the old folks say, and had a thoroughly good time.

A sleigh ride had been planned, but the girls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, and as.

Twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire.

Just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal Christmas we expected to have.

Do you remember?

Asked Joe, breaking a short pause, which had followed a long conversation about many things.

Rather a pleasant year on the whole, said Meg, smiling at the fire and congratulating herself on having treated Mr Brooke with dignity.

I think it's been a pretty hard one, observed Amy, watching the light shine on her ring with thoughtful eyes.

I'm glad it's over because we've got you back, whispered Beth, who sat on her father's knee.

Rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially the latter part of it.

But you have got on bravely, and I think the burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon.

Said Mr March, looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered round him.

How do you know?

Did Mother tell you?

Asked Joe.

Not much.

Straws show which way the wind blows, and I've made several discoveries today.

Oh, tell us what they are.

Cried Meg, who sat beside him.

Here is one.

And taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair, he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and two or three little hard spots on the palm.

I remember a time when this hand was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so.

It was very pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now, for in these seeming blemishes I read a little history a burnt offering has been made of vanity.

This hardened palm has earned something better than blisters, and I'm sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will last a long time.

So much goodwill went into the stitches.

Meg, my dear, I value the womanly skill, which keeps home happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments.

I'm proud to shake this good, industrious little hand and hope I shall not be soon asked to give it away.

If Meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it in the hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile he gave her.

What about Joe?

Please say something nice, for she's tried so hard and been so very, very good to me, said Beth in her father's ear.

He laughed and looked across at the.

Tall girl who sat opposite with an unusually mild expression in her brown face.

In spite of the curly crop.

I don't see the son, Joe, whom I left a year ago, said Mr.

March.

I see a young lady who pins her collar straight, laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks, sling, nor lies on the rug as she used to do.

Her face is rather thin and pale just now with watching and anxiety, but I like to look at it, for it has grown gentler, and her voice is lower, but she doesn't bounce, but moves quietly, and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which delights me.

I rather miss my wild girl, but if I get a strong, helpful, tender hearted woman in her place, I shall feel quite satisfied.

I don't know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep, but I do know that in all Washington I couldn't find anything beautiful enough to be bought with the five and $20 which my good girl sent me.

Joskeen's eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy in the firelight.

She received her father's praise, feeling that she did deserve a portion of it.

Now.

Beth, said Amy, longing for her turn.

But ready to wait.

There's so little of her.

I'm afraid to say much, for fear she will slip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used.

To be, began their father cheerfully, but recollecting how nearly he had lost her.

He held her close, sang tenderly with her cheek against his own.

I've got you safe, my Beth, and I'll keep you so please God.

After a minute's silence, he looked down at Amy, who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said with a caress of the shining hair I observed.

That Amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her mother all the afternoon, gave Meg her place tonight, and has waited on everyone with patience and good humor.

I also observe that she does not fret much, nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she wears.

So I conclude that she has learned to think of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and mold her character as carefully as she molds her little clay figures.

I am glad of this, for though I should be very proud of a graceful statue made by her, I shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others.

What are you thinking of, Beth?

Asked Joe, when Amy had thanked her father and told about her ring.

I read in Pilgrim's Progress today how, after many troubles, Christian and hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow where lilies bloomed all the year round.

And there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on their journey's end, answered Beth, adding as she slipped out of her father's arms and went slowly to the instrument.

It's singing time now, and I want to be in my old place.

I'll try to sing the song of the shepherd boy which the pilgrims heard.

I made the music for Father because he likes the verses.

So sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sung to her own accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for her.

He that is down need fear no.

Fall he that is low, no pride he that is humble ever shall have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have little, be it or much and Lord contentment still I crave because thou savest such fullness to them a burden is that go on pilgrimage here little and hereafter bliss is best from age to age.

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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