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

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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.

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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, 40 The Valley of the Shadow when the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble.

They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.

The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for bath, and in it was gathered everything that she most loved flowers, pictures, her piano, the little work table, and the beloved P******.

Father's best books found their way there mother's Easy chair, Joe's desk, Amy's Fine sketches.

And every day Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage to make sunshine for Auntie Beth.

John quietly set apart a little sum that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved and longed for.

Old Hannah never wearied of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked.

And from across the sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter.

Here cherished like a household saint in its shrine sat Beth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature.

And even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for those who should remain behind the feeble fingers were never idle.

And one of her pleasures was to make little things for the schoolchildren.

Daily passing to and fro.

To drop a pair of mittens from her window for a pair of purple hands.

A needle book for some small mother.

Of many dolls, pen wipers for young penmen toiling through forests of pothooks scrapbooks for pictureloving eyes and all manner of pleasant devices.

Till the reluctant climbers at the ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy godmother who sat above there and showered down gifts miraculously suited to their tastes and needs.

If Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to her window with nods and smiles and the droll little letters which came to her full of blots and gratitude.

The first few months were very happy ones.

And Beth often used to look round and say how beautiful this is, as they all sat together in her sunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sisters working near and father reading in his pleasant voice from the wise old books which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, as applicable now as when written centuries ago.

A little chapel where a paternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons almost learn, trying to show them that hope can comfort, love and faith make resignation possible.

Simple sermons that went straight to the souls of those who listened for the father's heart was in the minister's religion and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read.

It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparation for the sad hours to come.

For by and by Beth said the needle was so heavy and put it down forever, talking wearied.

Her faces troubled her pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh.

Ah, me, such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best were forced to see that thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly to hear the bitter cry Help me.

Help me.

And to feel that there was no help.

A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of the young life with death.

But both were mercifully brief, and then the natural rebellion over the old peace returned, more beautiful than ever.

With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and though she said little, those about her felt that she was ready saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore trying to see the shining ones coming to receive her.

When she crossed the river, joe never left her for an hour, since Beth had said I feel stronger when you are here.

She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked for anything and tried not to be a trouble.

All day she haunted the room, jealous of any other nurse and prouder of being chosen then than of any honor.

Her life ever brought her precious and helpful hours to Joe, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed.

Lessons and patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them.

Charity for all the lovely spirit that.

Can forgive and truly forget unkindness the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing but trusts undoubtedly.

Often when she woke, jo found Beth reading in her well worn little book, heard her singing softly to beguile the sleepless night or saw her lean her face upon her hands while slow tears dropped through the transparent fingers.

And Joe would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way, was trying to wean herself from the dear old life and fit herself for the life to come by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers, and the music she loved so well sing.

This did more for Joe than the wisest sermons, the saintliest hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter.

For with eyes made clear by many tears and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, she recognized the beauty of her sister's life uneventful, unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

The self forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest in heaven the true success which is possible to all.

One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table to find something to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as hard to bear, as pain as she turned the leaves of her old favorite Pilgrim's Progress, she found a little paper scribbled over in Jo's hand.

The name caught her eye, and the blurred look of the lines made her sure that tears had fallen on it.

Poor Joe.

She is fast asleep, so I won't wake her to ask leave.

She shows me all her things, and I don't think she'll mind if I look at this, thought Beth with a glance at her sister who lay on the rug with the tongs beside her, ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart.

My Beth, sitting patient in the shadow till the blessed light shall come a serene and saintly presence sanctifies our troubled home.

Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows break like ripples on the strand of the deep and solemn river where her willing feet now stand.

O sister, passing from me out of human care and strife.

Leave me as a gift those virtues which have beautified your life.

Dear.

Bequeath me that great patience which has power to sustain a cheerful, uncomplaining spirit in its prison house of pain.

Give me, for I need it sorely of that courage, wise and sweet which has made the path of duty green beneath your willing feet.

Give me that unselfish nature that with charity divine can pardon wrong.

For love's, dear sake, meek heart, forgive me mine.

Thus our parting daily lose it something of its bitter pain.

And while learning this hard lesson, my great loss becomes my gain, for the touch of grief will render my wild nature more serene.

Give to life new aspirations a new trust in the unseen.

Henceforth safe across the river I shall see forevermore a beloved household spirit waiting for me on the shore.

Hope and faith born of my sorrow guardian angels shall become, and the sister gone before me by their hands shall lead me home.

Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they brought a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face.

For her one regret had been that she had done so little, and this seemed to assure her that her life had not been useless, that her death would not bring the despair she feared as she sat with the paper folded between her hands.

The charred log fell asunder Joe started up, revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept.

Not asleep.

That's so happy, dear.

See, I found this in reddit.

I knew you wouldn't care.

Have I been all that to you, Jo?

She asked with wistful, humble earnestness.

Oh, Beth, so much.

So much.

And Joe's head went down upon the pillow beside her sister's.

And I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life.

I'm not so good as you make me.

But I have tried to do right.

And now, when it's too late to begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much and feels as if I'd helped them more than anyone in the world.

Beth, I used to think I couldn't let you go.

But I'm learning to feel that I don't lose you, that you'll be more to me than ever.

And death can't part us, though it seems to.

I know it cannot.

And I don't fear it any longer, for I'm sure I shall be your best still to love and help you more than ever.

You must take my place, Joe, and be everything to Mother and Father when I'm gone.

They will turn to you.

Don't fail them.

And if it's hard to work alone, remember that I don't forget you and that you'll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world.

For love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go.

And it makes the end so easy.

I'll try.

Beth.

And then in there, Jo renounced her old ambition, pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty of other desires and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality of love.

So the spring days came and went.

The sky grew clearer, the earth greener, the flowers were up fair and early, and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life as father and mother guided her tenderly through the valley of the shadow and gave her up to God.

Seldom, except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions or depart with beautified countenances.

And those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and simply asleep as Beth had hoped.

The tide went out easily, and in the dark hour before the dawn on the bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last.

With no farewell but one loving look, one little sigh.

With tears and prayers and tender hands, mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic patience that had rung their hearts so long and feeling with reverent joy that to their darling death was a beignignant angel, not a phantom full of dread.

When mourning came for the first time in many months, the fire was out, joe's place was empty, and the room was very still, but a bird sang blithely on a budding bough close by.

The snowdrops blossomed freshly at the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction over the plastid face upon the pillow, a face so full of painless peace that those who loved it best smiled through their tears and thanked God that Beth was well at last.

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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So many adventures and mountains we can time take it word for word, line by line, one bite at a time.