20 Little Women Read By Stephanie Poppins

Following the female stoic theme, this novel focuses on love, family, morality, and personal growth.
Meg, the eldest, is drawn to marriage and domestic life.
Jo, the headstrong and tomboyish one, pursues her passion for writing.
Beth, the quiet and gentle one, finds solace in music and is tragically affected by illness.
Amy, the youngest and most artistic, navigates her path, ultimately finding success in art.

In this episode, the March girls decide to vote Laurie into the PC (The Pickwick Club), their secret society and newsletter-writing club that features articles, stories, and criticisms.

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter 10 The PC and P.

O.

As spring came on,

A new set of amusements became the fashion and the lengthened days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts.

The garden had to be put in order and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do with what she liked.

Hannah used to say,

I'd know which each of them gardenings belonged to if I see them in Cheney.

And so she might,

For the girls' tastes differed as much as their characters.

Megs had roses and heliotrope,

Myrtle and a little orange tree.

Jo's bed was never alike two seasons,

She was always trying experiments.

This year it was to be a plantation of sunflowers,

The seeds of which cheerful and aspiring plant were to feed Aunt Cockletop and her family of chicks.

Beth had old-fashioned fragrant flowers in her garden,

Sweet peas and mignonette,

Larkspur,

Pinks,

Pansies and southernwood,

With chickweed for the bird and catnip for the pussycats.

Amy had a bower in hers,

Rather small and earwiggy but very pretty to look at,

With honeysuckles and morning glories hanging their coloured horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it.

Gardening walks rose on the river and flower hunts employed the fine days.

And for rainy ones they had house diversions,

Some old and some new.

One of these was the PC,

For as secret societies were the fashion,

It was thought proper to have one,

And as all of the girls admired Charles Dickens,

They called themselves the Pickwick Club.

With a few interruptions they kept this up for a whole year and met every Saturday evening in the Big Garrett,

On which occasions the ceremonies were as follows.

Three chairs were arranged in a row before a table,

On which was a lamp,

Four white badges and a big PC,

In different colours on each,

And the weekly newspaper called the Pickwick Portfolio.

Everyone contributed something to that.

Joe was the editor.

At seven o'clock the four members ascended to the club room,

Tied their badges round their heads and took their seats with great solemnity.

As the eldest Meg was Samuel Pickwick.

Joe,

Being of a literary turn,

Was Augustus Snodgrass.

Beth,

Because she was round and rosy,

Tracy Tupman,

And Amy,

Who was always picking to do what she couldn't,

Was Nathaniel Winkle.

Pickwick the President read the paper,

Which was filled with original tales,

Poetry,

Local news,

Funny advertisements and hints in which they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and shortcomings.

On one occasion Mr Pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any glasses,

Wrapped upon the table,

And having stared hard at Mr Snodgrass,

Who was tilting back in his chair,

Began to read The Pickwick Portfolio.

Again we meet to celebrate,

With badge and solemn right,

Our 52nd anniversary in Pickwick Hall tonight.

We are all here in perfect health,

None gone from our small band.

Again we see each well-known face and press each friendly hand.

Our Pickwick,

Always at his post,

With reverence we greet.

As spectacles on nose he reads our well-filled weekly sheet.

Although he suffers from a cold,

We joy to hear him speak,

For words of wisdom from him fall in spite of crook or squeak.

Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high,

With elephantine grace,

And beams upon the company with brown and jovial face.

Poetic fire lights up his eye,

He struggles against his lot.

Behold ambition on his brow and on his nose,

Ablot.

Next out,

Peaceful Tuckman comes,

So rosy,

Plump and sweet,

Who chokes with laughter at the puns and tumbles off his seat.

Prim Littlewinkle too is here,

With every hair in place,

A model of propriety,

Though he hates to wash his face.

This year is gone,

We still unite to joke and laugh and read,

And tread the path of literature that doth to glory lead.

Long may our paper prosper well,

Our club unbroken be,

And coming years their blessings pour on the useful gay PC.

The President then continued to read the rest of the articles,

Entitled The History of a Squash,

A Sad Accident,

The Public Bereavement,

A Letter from Winkle,

A Manly and Handsome Acknowledgement of Past Misdemeanours,

A Lament,

Advertisements,

And finally Hints.

If SP didn't use so much soap on his hands,

He wouldn't always be late at breakfast.

AS is required not to whistle in the street.

TT please don't forget Amy's napkin.

AW must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.

Weekly Report.

Meg,

Good.

Jo,

Bad.

Beth,

Very good.

Amy,

Middling.

And when the reading of the paper was finished,

A round of applause followed.

Then Mr Snodgrass rose to make a proposition.

Mr President and gentlemen,

He began assuming a parliamentary attitude and tone,

I wish to propose the admission of a new member,

One who highly deserves the honour.

He would be deeply grateful for it and would add immensely to the spirit of the club,

The literary value of the paper,

And be no end jolly and nice.

I propose Mr Theodore Lawrence as an honorary member of the PC.

Come now,

Do have him.

Jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh,

But all looked rather anxious and no one said a word.

The Snodgrass took his seat.

We'll put it to the vote,

Said the President.

All in favour of this motion,

Pleased to manifest it by saying aye.

A loud response from Snodgrass followed,

To everybody's surprise,

By a timid one from Beth.

Contrary-minded say no.

Meg and Amy were contrary-minded,

And Mr Winkle rose to say with great eloquence,

We don't wish any boys,

They only joke and bounce about.

This is a ladies' club and we wish to be private and proper.

I'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper and make fun of us afterwards,

Observed Pickwick,

Pulling the little curl on her forehead as she always did when doubtful.

Up rose Snodgrass,

Very much in earnest.

Sir,

I give you my word as a gentleman,

Laurie won't do anything of the sort.

He likes to write and he'll give a tone to our contributions and keep us from being sentimental,

Don't you see?

We can do so little for him,

And he does so much for us,

I think the least we can do is to offer him a place here and make him welcome.

This artful allusion to benefits conferred brought Tupman to his feet,

Looking as if he'd made his mind up.

We ought to do it,

Even if we are afraid.

I say he may come,

And his grandpa too if he likes.

This spirited outburst from Beth electrified the club and Jo left her seat to shake hands approvingly.

Now then,

Vote again.

Everybody remember it's our Laurie,

And say aye.

Aye,

Replied three voices at once.

Good,

God bless you.

Now is this nothing like taking time by the fetlock?

Allow me to present the new member.

And to the dismay of the rest of the club,

Jo threw open the door of the closet and displayed Laurie sitting on a rag bag,

Flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.

You rogue,

You traitor Jo,

How could you?

Cried the three girls.

The coolness of you two rascals is amazing,

Began Mr Pickwick,

Trying to get up an awful frown.

But the new member was equal to the occasion and rising with a graceful salutation to the chair said in the most engaging way.

Mr President and ladies,

I beg pardon gentlemen,

Allow me to introduce myself as Sam Weller,

The very humble servant of the club.

Good,

Cried Jo,

Pounding with a handle of the old warming pan on which she laid.

My faithful friend and noble patron,

Continued Laurie with a wave of the hand,

Who has so flatteringly presented me,

Is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight.

I planned it and she only gave in after loads of teasing.

Come now,

Don't lay it all on yourself,

You know I proposed the cupboard,

Broke in snot grass,

Who was enjoying the joke amazingly.

Never you mind what she says,

I'm the wretch that did it sir,

Said the new member,

But on my honour I'll never do so again and henceforth devote myself to the interest of this immortal club.

Hear,

Hear,

Cried Jo,

Clashing the lid of the warming pan like a cymbal.

Go on,

Go on,

Added Winkle and Tuckman,

While the President bowed benignly.

I merely wish to say that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honour done me,

And as a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations,

I've set up a post office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden,

A fine spacious building with padlocks on the doors,

And every convenience for the males,

Also the females,

If I may be allowed an expression.

It's the old Martin house,

He continued,

But I've stopped up the door,

And made the roof open so it'll hold all sorts of things and save our valuable time.

Great applause as Mr Weller deposited a little key on the table.

Allow me to present the club key,

And with many,

Many thanks for your favour,

I shall now take my seat.

A long discussion followed and everyone came out surprisingly,

For everyone did her best.

So it was an unusually lively meeting and did not adjourn until a late hour when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member.

No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller,

For a more devoted,

Well-behaved and jovial member no club could have.

He certainly did add spirit to the meeting and a tone to the paper,

For his orations convulsed his hearers and his contributions were excellent,

Being patriotic,

Classical,

Comical or dramatic,

But never sentimental.

Jo regarded them as worthy of Bacon,

Milton or Shakespeare,

And remodelled her own works with good effect as a consequence.

The PO was a capital little institution and flourished wonderfully,

For nearly as many queer things passed through it as though through the real office.

Tragedies in cravats,

Poetry in pickles,

Garden seeds and long letters,

Music in gingerbread,

Rubbers,

Invitations,

Scoldings and puppies.

The old gentleman liked the fun and amused himself by sending odd bundles,

Mysterious messages and funny telegrams,

And his gardener,

Who was smitten with Hannah's charms,

Actually sent a love letter to Jo's care.

How they laughed when the secret came out,

Never dreaming how many love letters that little post office would hold in the years to come.