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

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Check out our website, or join our Facebook Group!

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our YouTube!

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

San the book and let's see what we can find.

Take it chapter by chapter, one bite at a time so many adventures and mountains we can climb.

Take it word for word, like by line.

One bite at a time.

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

If you want to know what's coming next and vote on upcoming books, sign up for our newsletter@byetatimebooks.com.

You'll also find our new T shirts in the shop, including podcast shirts and quote shirts from your favorite classic novels.

Be sure to follow my show on your favorite podcast platform so you get all the new episodes.

You can find most of our links in the show notes, but also our website Bytetimebooks.com includes all of the links for our show, including to our patreon to support the show, and YouTube, where we have special behind the narration of the episodes.

We're part of the bite at a Time books Productions network.

If you'd also like to hear what inspired your favorite classic authors to write their novels and what was going on in the world at the time, check out the Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story podcast.

Wherever you listen to podcasts, please note while we try to keep the text as close to the original as possible.

Some words have been changed to honor.

The marginalized communities who've identified the words as harmful and to stay in alignment with Bite at a Time book's brand values.

Today we'll be continuing Little Women by Louisa May Alcott 26 artistic Attempts It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women.

Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation for mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity.

For a long time there was a lull in the mud pie business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen and ink drawing in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable.

But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker sketching.

While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration, for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at all hours.

Smoke issued from the attic and shed with alarming frequency.

Red hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner bell at her door in case of fire, Raphael's face was found boldly executed on the underside of the molding board and bacchus on the head of a beer barrel.

A chanting cherub adorned the COVID of the sugar bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied kindlings for some time.

From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fingers, and Amy felt a painting with undiminished ardour.

An artist friend fitted her out with his castoff palettes, brushes, and colors, and she dobbed away producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea.

Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair, and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced seasickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him with laughter.

At the first glance.

Swarthy boys and dark eyed Madonnas staring at you from one corner of the studio suggested Marillo.

Oily brown shadows of faces with a lurid streak in the wrong place meant rembrandt buxom ladies and dropsicle.

Infants Rubens and Turner appeared in the tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain and purple clouds with a tomato colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a buoy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe.

As the spectator pleased, charcoal portraits came next, and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal bin softened in the crown.

Sketches they did better, for the likenesses were good, and Amy's hair, jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Lori's eyes were pronounced wonderfully fine.

A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house or tumbled off closet shelves onto people's heads.

Children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogre.

Her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident which quenched her ardor.

Other models failing her.

For a time, she undertook to cast her own pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed with her foot held fast in a panful of plaster which had hardened with unexpected rapidity.

With much difficulty and some danger, she was dug out, for Joe was so overcome with laughter while she evacuated that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt at least.

After this, Amy subsided tillamania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field and wood for picturesque studies and sighing for ruins to copy.

She caught endless cold sitting on damp.

Grass to book a delicious bit composed.

Of a stone, a stump, one mushroom and a broken Mulane stalk or heavenly mass of clouds that looked like a choice display of featherbeds.

When done, she sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose, trying after points of sight, or whatever the squint and string performance is called.

If genius is eternal patience, as Michelangelo affirms, amy certainly had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do something worthy to be called high art.

She was learning, doing and enjoying other things meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist.

Here she succeeded better, for she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star.

Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact.

She had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place.

And was so self possessed that her.

Sisters used to say if Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly what to do.

One of her weaknesses was the desire to move in our best society without being quite sure what the best really was.

Money, position, fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true and admiring what was not admirable, never forgetting that by birth she was a gentle woman.

She cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings so that when the opportunity came, she.

Might be ready to take the place.

From which poverty now excluded her.

My lady, as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady.

And was so at heart, but had.

Yet to learn that money cannot buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks.

I want to ask a favor of you, Mama, Amy said, coming in with an important heir one day.

Well, little girl, what is it?

Replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained the baby.

Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day.

They are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge and copy some of the things they admire in my book.

They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I'm grateful, for they are all rich and know I am poor.

Yet they never made any difference.

Why should they?

And Mrs.

March put the question with what the girls called her Maria Teresa heir.

You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearly everyone.

So don't ruffle up like a dear motherly hen when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds.

The ugly duckling turned out a swan, you know, and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit.

Mrs.

March laughed and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked well, my swan, what is your plan?

I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week to take them a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and make a little artistic feat for them.

That looks feasible.

What do you want for lunch?

Cake, sandwiches?

Fruit and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose.

Oh, dear, no.

We must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and ice cream.

Besides, the girls are used to such things, and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living.

How many young ladies are there?

Asked her mother, beginning to look sober.

Twelve or 14 in the class, but I dare say they won't all come.

Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them about.

My mother, how can you think of such a thing?

Not more than six or eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach wagon and borrow Mr.

Lawrence's cherry bounce, Hannah's pronunciation of charabank.

All of this will be expensive, Amy.

Not very.

I've calculated the cost and I'll pay it for myself.

Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them as a change, if nothing more.

And much better for us than buying or borrowing what we don't need and attempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances.

If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all.

I know that I can carry it out perfectly well if you and the girls will help a little.

And I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it, said Amy with the decision, which opposition was apt to change into obstinacy.

Mrs.

March knew that Experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible, she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier if they had not objected to taking advice as much as they did salts and senna.

Very well, Amy.

If your heart is set upon it and you see your way through without too great an outlay of money, time and temper, I'll say no more.

Talk it over with the girls in.

Whichever way you decide.

I'll do my best to help you.

Thanks, Mother.

You are always so kind.

And away went Amy to lay her plan before her sisters.

Meg agreed at once and promised her.

Aid, gladly offering anything she possessed from.

Her little house itself to her very best salt spoons.

But Joe frowned upon the whole project and would have nothing to do with it at first.

Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care a six pence for you?

I thought you had too much pride.

And sense to chuckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a coupe, said Joe, who, being called from the tragical climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises.

I don't truckle, and I hate being.

Patronized as much as you do, returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions arose.

The girls do care for me.

And I for them, and there's a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them.

In spite of what you call fashionable nonsense.

You don't care to make people like you to go into good society and cultivate your manners and tastes.

I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that comes.

You can go through the world with.

Your elbows out and your nose in the air and call it independence if you like.

That's not my way.

When Amy wetted her tongue and freed her mind, she usually got the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her side, while Joe carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument.

Amy's definition of Joe's idea of independence was such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn.

Much against her will, joe at length consented to sacrifice a day to Mrs.

Grundy and help her sister through what she regarded as a nonsensical business.

The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday was set apart for the grand event.

Hannah was out of humor because her week's work was deranged and prophesied that if the Washington ironing wasn't done regular, nothing would go well anywheres.

This hitch, in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern, but Amy's motto was nil desperandum.

Having made up her mind what to.

Do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles.

To begin with, Hannah's cooking didn't turn out well.

The chicken was tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly.

Then the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected.

So did the wagon, and various other expenses which seemed trifling at the outset counted up rather alarmingly.

Afterward, Beth got cold and took to her bed.

Meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents and mistakes were uncommonly, numerous, serious and trying.

If it hadn't been for Mother, I never should have got through.

As Amy declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when the best joke of the season was entirely forgotten by everybody else.

If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday, an arrangement which aggravated Joe and Hannah to the last degree.

On Monday morning, the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour.

It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late for anyone else to make up theirs.

Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts that the house might be got in order.

The parlor struck hers looking uncommonly shabby.

But without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skilfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures framed in ivy, and filling up empty corners with homemade statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Joe scattered about.

The lunch looked charmingly, and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well and that the borrowed glass, china and silver would get safely home again.

The carriages were promised.

Meg and mother were all ready to do the honors.

Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes.

Joe had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, an aching head and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything would allow.

And as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment when lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights, for the cherry bounce and the broken bridge were her strong points.

Then came 2 hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock.

A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came, and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast that nothing might be lost.

No doubt about the weather today.

They will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them, said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning.

She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like her cake was getting a little stale.

I can't get any lobsters, so you'll have to do without salad today, said Mr.

March, coming in half an hour later with an expression of placid despair.

Use the chicken, then the toughness won't matter in a salad, advised his wife.

Hannah.

Left it on the kitchen table a minute, and the kittens got at it.

I'm very sorry, Amy, added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats.

Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do, said Amy decidedly.

Shall I rush into town and demand one?

Asked Joe, with the magnanimity of a martyr.

You'd come bringing it home under your arm without any paper, just to try me.

I'll go myself, answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to fail.

Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel traveling basket.

She departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit and fit her for the labors of the day.

After some delay, the object of her desire was procured likewise a bottle of dressing to prevent further loss of time at home.

And off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought as the omnibus containing only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, amy pocketed her veil and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to find out where all her money had gone to.

So busy was she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a newcomer who entered without stopping the vehicle till a masculine voice said, good morning, Miss March, and looking up, she beheld one of Lori's most elegant college friends.

Fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet and, congratulating herself that she had on her new traveling dress, returned to the young man's greeting with her usual suave and spirit.

They got on excellently.

For Amy's chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave first.

And she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain.

When the old lady got out and stumbling to the door, she upset the basket and o horror.

The lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy was revealed to the highborn eyes of a tutor.

By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner.

Cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane and preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.

Please don't.

It's it's mine, murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.

Oh, really?

I beg pardon.

It's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?

Said Tudor.

With great presence of mind and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding.

Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat and said laughing, don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's to make and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?

Now, that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched.

The lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about the charming young ladies diverted his mind from the comical mishap.

I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Lori, but I shan't see them.

That's a comfort, thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed.

She did not mention this meeting at home, though she discovered that thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt but went through with the preparations, which now seemed more irksome than before.

And at 12:00 all was ready again.

Feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to have faced the memory of yesterday's failure by a grand success today.

So she ordered the cherry bounce and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet.

There's the rumble.

They're coming.

I'll go into the porch to meet them.

It looks hospitable, and I want the.

Poor child to have a good time.

After all her trouble, said Mrs.

Mart, suiting the action to the word.

But after one glance she retired with an indescribable expression for looking quite lost.

In the big carriage sat Amy and one young lady.

Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table.

It'll be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl.

Cried Joe, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh.

In came Amy, quite calm and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise.

The rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Elliot found them a most hilarious set, for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment which possessed them.

The remodeled lunch being gaily partaken of the studio and garden, visited and art disgusted with enthusiasm, amy ordered a buggy alas for the elegant cherry bounce, and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset.

When the party went out, she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as ever.

She observed that every vestige of the unfortunate feat had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Joe's mouth.

You've had a lovely afternoon for your.

Drive, dear, said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.

Miss Elliot is a very sweet girl and seemed to enjoy herself.

I thought, observed Beth with unusual warmth.

Could you spare me some of your cake?

I really need some.

I have so much company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours, asked Meg soberly.

Take it all.

I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it would mold before I can dispose of it, answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this.

It's a pity Lori isn't here to help us, began Joe, as I sat down to ice cream and salad for the second time in two days.

A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence till Mr.

March mildly observed salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn here.

A general explosion of laughter cut short the history of salads to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.

Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the hummels Germans like Messes.

I'm sick of the sight of this, and there's no reason you should all die of a surface because I've been a fool.

Cried Amy, wiping her eyes.

I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the whatcha call it?

Like two colonels in a very big nutshell and Mother waiting in estate to receive the throng, sighed Joe, quite spent with laughter.

I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear.

But we all did our best to.

Satisfy you, said Mrs.

March in a tone full of motherly regret.

I am satisfied.

I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault that it failed.

I comfort myself with that, said Amy with a little quiver in her voice.

I thank you all very much for helping me.

And I'll thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month at least.

No one did for several months, but the word feet always produced a general smile, and Lori's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her WatchGuard.

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.

Don't forget to sign up for our newsletter@bytetimebooks.com and check out the shop.

You can check out the show notes or our website, byteathimebooks.com, for the rest of the links for our show.

We'd love to hear from you on.

Social media as well.

You take a look and a book and let's see what we can find.