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

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

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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, 23.

Aunt March settles the question.

Like bees swarming after their queen.

Mother and daughters hovered about Mr.

March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, waited upon and listened to the new invalid who was in a fair way to be killed by kindness.

As he sat propped up in a big chair by Beth's sofa with the other three close by and Hannah popped in her head now and then to peek at the dear man.

Nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness, but something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact.

Mr.

And Mrs.

March looked at one another with anxious expression as their eyes followed.

Meg Joe had sudden fits of sobriety and was seen to shake her fist at Mr.

Brooks'umbrella, which had been left in the hall.

Meg was absent minded, shy and silent started when the bell rang and colored when John's name was mentioned.

Amy said everyone seemed waiting for something and couldn't settle down, which was queer since Father was safe at home, and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didn't run over as usual.

Lori went by in the afternoon, and seeing Meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down upon one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands imploringly, as if begging some boon, and when meg told him to behave himself and go away.

He wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.

What does the goose mean?

Said Meg, laughing and trying to look unconscious.

He's showing you how your John will go on by and by touching, isn't it?

Answered Joe Scornfully.

Don't say my john.

It isn't proper or true.

But Meg's voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her.

Please don't plague me, Joe.

I've told you I don't care much about him, and there isn't to be anything said.

But we are all to be friendly and go on as before we can't, for something has been said, and Lori's mischief has spoiled you for me, I see it, and so does Mother.

You're not like your old self a.

Bit and seem ever so far away from me.

I don't mean to plague you and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled.

I hate to wait, so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly, said Joe pettishly.

I can't say or do anything till he speaks, and he won't because Father said I was too young, began Meg, bending over her work with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that point.

If he did speak, you wouldn't know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way instead of a good decided no.

I'm not so silly and weak as you think.

I know just what I should say, for I've planned it all, so I needn't be taken unawares.

There's no knowing what may happen, and I wish to be prepared.

Joe couldn't help smiling at the important air, which Meg had unconsciously assumed, and which was as becoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks.

Would you mind telling me what you'd say?

Asked Joe more respectfully.

Not at all.

You're 16 now, quite old enough to be my confidant, and my experience will be useful to you by and by, perhaps in your own affairs of this sort.

Don't mean to have any.

It's fun to watch other people Flander, but I should feel like a fool doing it myself, said Joe, looking alarmed at the thought.

I think not, if you liked anyone very much and he liked you.

Meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane where she had often seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight.

I thought you were going to tell your speech to that man, said Joe, rudely shortening her sister's little reverie.

I should merely say quite calmly and decidedly, thank you, Mr.

Brooke.

You're very kind.

But I agree with Father that I'm too young to enter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but let us be friends as we, hmm?

That's stiff and cool enough.

I don't believe you'll ever say it, and I know he won't be satisfied if you do.

If he goes on like the rejected lovers in books, you'll give in rather than hurt his feelings.

No, I won't.

I shall tell him I've made up my mind and shall walk out of the room with dignity.

Meg rose as she spoke and was just going to rehearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat and begin to sew, as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time.

Joe smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and when someone gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect which was anything but hospitable.

Good afternoon.

I came to get my umbrella.

That is, to see how your father finds himself today, said Mr.

Brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eye went from one telltale face to the other.

It's very well.

He's in the rack.

I'll get him and tell it you're here.

Having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, joe slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and air her dignity.

But the instant she vanished, meg began to siddle towards the door, murmuring, mother will like to see you.

Pray sit down.

I'll call her.

Don't go.

Are you afraid of me, Margaret?

Mr.

Buck looked so hurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude.

She blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it.

Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture and said gratefully, how can I be afraid when you've been so kind to father?

I only wish I could thank you for it.

Shall I tell you how?

Asked Mr.

Brooke, holding the small hand fast in both of his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the brown eyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and to stop and listen.

Oh, no, please don't.

I'd rather not, she said, trying to withdraw her hand and looking frightened in spite of her denial.

I won't trouble you.

I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg.

I love you so much, dear, added Mr.

Brooke tenderly.

This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didn't make it.

She forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, I don't know, so softly that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply.

He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully and said in his most persuasive tone will you try and find out?

I want to know so much, for I can't go to work with any heart until I learn whether I'm to have my reward in the end or not.

I'm too young, faltered Meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it.

I'll wait, and in the meantime you could be learning to like me.

Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?

Not if I chose to learn it.

Please choose to learn, Meg.

I love to teach.

And this is easier than German broke in John getting possession of the other hand so that she had no way of hiding her face.

As he bent to look into it, his tone was properly beseeching, but stealing a shy look at him, meg saw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore the satisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success.

This nettled her Annie Moffat's foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and the love of power which sleeps in the bosoms of the best of little women woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her.

She felt excited and strange, and not knowing what else to do, followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hand, said petulantly, I don't choose.

Please go away and let me be.

Poor Mr.

Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and it rather bewildered him.

Do you really mean that?

He asked anxiously, following her as she walked away.

Yes, I do.

I don't want to be worried about such things.

Father says I needn't it's too soon, and I'd rather not.

Man, I hope you'll change your mind by and by.

I'll wait and say nothing till you've had more time.

Don't play with me, Meg.

I didn't think that of you.

Don't think of me at all.

I'd rather you wouldn't, said Meg, taking a naughty satisfaction and trying her lover's patience and her own power.

He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the room as they did.

He just stood looking at her, so wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of her.

What would have happened next, I cannot say if Aunt March had not come hobling in at this interesting minute.

The old lady couldn't resist her longing to see her nephew, for she had met Lori as she took her airing and, hearing of Mr.

March's arrival, drove straight out to see him.

The family were all busy in the back part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them.

She did surprise two of them, so much that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr.

Brooke vanished into the study.

Bless me.

What's all this?

Cried the old lady with a wrap of her cane as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady.

It's father's friend.

I'm so surprised to see you, stammered Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture.

Now that's evident, returned Aunt March, sitting down.

But what is father's friend saying to make you look like a peony?

There's mischief going on and I insist upon knowing what it is.

With another rap.

We were merely talking.

Mr.

Brooke came for his umbrella, began Meg, wishing that Mr.

Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house.

Brooke?

That boy's tutor.

Ah, I understand now.

I know all about it.

Joe blundered into a wrong message in one of your father's letters and I.

Made her tell me.

You haven't gone and accepted him, child.

Cried Aunt March, looking scandalized.

Hush.

He'll hear Shanti call.

Mother said meg much troubled.

Not yet.

I have something to say to you and I must free my mind at once.

Tell me, do you mean to marry this cook?

If you do, not one penny of.

My money ever goes to you.

Remember that and be a sensible girl.

Said the old lady.

Impressively.

Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing, the spirit of opposition in the gentlest people and enjoyed doing it.

The best of us have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in love.

If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she couldn't think of it.

But as she was preemptorly ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would.

Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and being already much excited, meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit.

I shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to anyone you like, she said, nodding her head with a resolute air.

Heidi tidy.

Is that the way you take my advice, miss?

You'll be sorry for it by and by when you've tried love in a cottage and found it a failure.

It can't be a worse one than some people find in big houses, retorted Meg.

Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her.

In this new mood, Meg hardly knew herself.

She felt so brave and independent, so glad to defend John and assert her right to love him if she liked.

Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and after a little pause made a fresh start, saying as mildly as.

She could now, Meg, my dear, be reasonable and take my advice.

I mean it kindly and don't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning.

You ought to marry well and help your family.

It's your duty to make a rich match, and it ought to be impressed by you.

Father and mother, don't think so.

They like John, though he is poor.

Your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than two babies.

I'm glad of it.

Cried Meg stoutly, and March took no notice, but went on with her lecture.

This rook is poor and hasn't got any rich relations, has he?

No, but he has many warm friends.

You can't live on friends.

Try it and see how cool they'll grow.

He hasn't any business, has he?

Not yet.

Mr.

Lawrence is going to help him.

That won't last long.

James Lawrence is a crotchety old fellow and not to be depended on.

So you intend to marry a man without money, position or business and go on working harder than you do now when you might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better.

I thought you had more sense, Meg.

I couldn't do better if I waited half my life.

John is good and wise.

He's got heaps of talent.

He's willing to work and sure to get on.

He's so energetic and brave.

Everyone likes and respects him, and I'm.

Proud to think he cares for me.

Though I'm so poor and young and silly, said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness.

He knows you have got rich relations, child.

That's the secret of his liking, I suspect.

Aunt March, how dare you say such a thing?

John is above such meanness.

And I won't listen to you a minute if you talk so.

Cried Meg indignantly forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady's suspicions.

My John wouldn't marry for money any more than I would.

We're willing to work and we mean to wait.

I'm not afraid of being poor, for I've been happy so far and I know I shall be with him because he loves me and I meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadn't made up her mind that she had told her John to go away and that he might be overhearing her inconsistent remarks.

Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match.

And something in the girl's happy young face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour.

Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair.

You are a willful child and you've lost more than you know by this piece of folly.

No, I won't stop.

I'm disappointed in you and haven't spirits to see your father.

Now.

Don't expect anything from me.

When you're married your Mr.

Book's friends.

Must take care of you.

I'm done with you forever.

And slamming the door in Meg's face, aunt March drove off in high dudgeon.

She seemed to take all the girl's courage with her for when left alone, Meg stood a moment undecided whether to laugh or cry.

Before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr.

Brooke, who said all in one breath I couldn't help hearing Meg thank you for defending me and Aunt March, for proving that you do care for me a little bit.

I didn't know how much till she abused you began.

Meg and I needn't go away, but may stay and be happy.

May I, dear?

Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either and disgraced herself forever in jo's eyes by meekly whispering, yes, John.

And hiding her face on Mr.

Brooks'waistcoat.

15 minutes after Aunt March's departure, joe came softly down the stairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, she has sent him away as we planned, and that affair is settled.

I'll go and hear the fun and have a good laugh over it.

But poor Joe never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open as her eyes, going in to exalt over a fallen enemy and to praise a strong minded sister for the banishment of an objectionable lover.

It certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting on the sofa with a strong minded sister enthroned upon his knee and wearing an expression of the most abject submission.

Joe gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower bath had suddenly fallen upon her, for such an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away.

At the odd sound, the lovers turned and saw her.

Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy, but that man, as Joe called him, actually laughed and said coolly as he kissed the astonished newcomer, sister, joe congratulate us.

That was adding insult to injury.

It was altogether too much.

And making some wild demonstration with her hands, joe vanished without a word.

Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically as she burst into the room.

Oh, do.

Somebody go down quick.

John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it.

Mr.

And Mrs.

March left the room with speed, and casting herself upon the bed, Joe cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news to Beth and Amy.

The little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable and interesting event, and Joe got little comfort from them.

So she went up to her refuge in the Garrett and confided her troubles to the rats.

Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon, but a great deal of talking was done and quiet.

Mr.

Brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it.

The teabell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which he meant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her into supper, both looking so happy that Joe hadn't the heart to be jealous or dismal amy was very much impressed by John's devotion and Meg's dignity.

Beth beamed at them from a distance, while Mr.

And Mrs.

March surveyed the young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident aunt March was right in calling them as unworldly as a pair of babies.

No one ate much, but everyone looked very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began.

There.

You can't say nothing pleasant ever happens, now, can you, Meg?

Said Amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in the sketch she was planning to take.

No, I'm sure I can't.

How much has happened since I said that?

It seems a year ago, answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream lifted far above such common things as bread and butter.

The joys come close upon the sorrows.

This time, and I rather think the changes have begun, said Mrs.

March.

In most families, there comes now and then a year full of events.

This has been such in one, but it ends well after all.

Hope the next one will end better, muttered Joe, who found it very hard to see Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face.

For Joe loved a few persons very dearly and dreaded to have their affection lost or lessened in any way.

I hope the third year from this will end better.

I mean, it shall if I live to work out my plans, said Mr.

Brooks, smiling at Meg as if everything had become possible to him.

Now.

Doesn't it seem very long to wait?

Asked Amy, who was in a hurry for the wedding.

I've got so much to learn before I shall be ready.

It seems a short time to me, answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face never seen there before.

You have only to wait.

I am to do the work, said John, beginning his labors by picking up Meg's napkin with an expression which caused Joe to shake her head and then to say to herself with an air of relief as the front door banged, here comes Lori.

Now.

We shall have a little sensible conversation.

But Joe was mistaken, for Lori came prancing in overflowing with spirits, bearing a great bridal looking bouquet for Mrs.

John Brooke, and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole affair had been brought about by his excellent management.

I knew Brooke would have it all his own way.

He always does, for when he makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it's done though the sky falls, said Lori, when he had presented his offering in his congratulations.

Much obliged for that recommendation.

I take it as a good omen for the future and invite you to my wedding on the spot, answered Mr.

Brooke, who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil.

I'll come if I'm at the ends of the earth.

For the sight of Joe's face alone on that occasion would be worth a long journey.

You don't look festive, ma'am.

What's the matter?

Asked Lori, following her into a corner of the parlor where all it adjourned to greet Mr.

Lawrence.

I don't approve of the match, but I've made up my mind to bear it and shall not say a word against it, said Joe solemnly.

You can't know how hard it is for me to give up Meg, she continued with a little quiver in her voice.

You don't give her up, you only go halves, said Lori consolingly.

It never can be the same again.

I've lost my dearest friend, sighed Joe.

You've got me anyhow.

I'm not good for much, I know, but I'll stand by you, Joe, all the days of my life.

Upon my word, I will.

And Lori meant what he said.

I know you will, and I'm ever so much obliged.

You are always a great comfort to me, Teddy, returned Joe, gratefully, shaking hands.

Well, now, don't be dismal.

There's a good fellow.

It's all right.

You see, Meg is happy.

Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately.

Grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in her own little house.

We'll have capital times after she's gone, for I shall be through college before long, and then we'll go abroad or some nice trip or other.

Wouldn't that console you?

I rather think it would, but there's no knowing what may happen in three years, said Joe thoughtfully.

That's true.

Don't you wish you could take a look forward and see where we shall all be then?

I do.

Returned.

Lori I think not, for I might see something sad.

And everyone looks so happy now.

I don't believe they could be much improved.

And Joe's eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect was a pleasant one.

Father and Mother sat together quietly, reliving the first chapter of the romance for which they began some 20 years ago.

Amy was drawing the lovers who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy.

Bethley, on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peaceful way she walked.

Joe lounged in her favorite low seat with the grave, quiet look which best became her.

And Lori, leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both.

So grouped.

The curtain falls upon Meg, Joe, Beth and Amy.

Whether it ever rises again depends upon the reception given to the first act of the domestic drama called Little Women.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time books.

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