3 Little Women Read By Stephanie Poppins

Following on the female stoic theme, this novel focuses on love, family, morality, and personal growth. This novel explores themes of sisterhood, family bonds, love, loss, and the challenges faced by young women in a patriarchal society.

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 girls resolve.

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 One Further Continued After hearing their father's letter, Everybody sniffed. Jo wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, And Amy never minded the rumbling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, I am a selfish girl, But I'll truly try to be better so he mayn't be disappointed in me by and by. We all will, Cried Meg. I think too much of my looks and I hate to work, But won't anymore if I can help it. I'll try and be what he loves to call me, A little woman, And not be rough and wild, But do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else, Said Jo, Thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down south. Beth said nothing but wiped away her tears with a blue army sock and began to knit with all her might, Losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest to her, While she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that father hoped to find when the year brought round a happy coming home. Mrs Marsh broke the silence that followed Jo's words by saying in her cheery voice, Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrim's Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me tie my peace bags on your backs for burdens, Give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper and let you travel through the house from the cellar, Which was the city of destruction, Up, Up to the housetop where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a celestial city. What fun it was, Especially going by the lions, Fighting a pollion and passing through the valley where the hobgoblins were, Said Jo. I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled down stairs, Said Meg. My favourite part was when we came out the flat roof where our flowers and arbours and pretty things were and all stood and sang for joy up there in the sunshine, Said Beth smiling as if that pleasant moment had come back to her. I don't remember much about it, Except I was afraid of the cellar and the dark entry and always liked the cake and milk we had at the top. If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it all over again, Said Amy, Who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve. We are never too old for this, My dear, Said Mother, Because it's a play we're playing all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, Our road is before us, And the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true celestial city. Now, My little pilgrims, Suppose you begin again, Not in play, But in earnest, And see how far you can get before Father comes home. Really, Mother, Where are our bundles? Asked Amy, Who was a very little young lady. Each of you told what your burden was just now, Except Beth, Said Mother. I rather think she hasn't got any. Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters and envying girls with nice pianos and being afraid of people. Beth's bundle was such a funny one, Everybody wanted to laugh, But nobody did for it would have hurt her feelings very much. Let us do it, Said Meg thoughtfully. It's only another name for trying to be good, And the story may help us. For though we do not want to be good, It is hard work, And then we forget and don't do our best. We were in the slough of Despond tonight, Said Jo, And Mother came and pulled us out of it as help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of directions like Christian. What shall we do about that, She asked, Delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her duty. Look under your pillows, Christmas morning, And you will find your guidebook, Replied Mrs. Marsh. They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table. Then out came the four little work baskets and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt Marsh. It was uninteresting sewing, But tonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into four parts and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa and America. In that way they got on capitally, Especially when they talked about the different countries as they stitched their way through them. At last it was nine o'clock and they stopped work and sang as usual before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, But Beth had a way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a flute. She and her mother led the little choir and Amy chirped like a cricket. Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, Always coming out of the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoilt the most pensive tune. But they had always done this from the time they could lisp, Crinkle, Crinkle little star. It was now a household custom, For their mother was a born singer. The first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about the house singing like a lark, And the last sound at night was that same cheery sound, For the girls never grew too old, For that familiar lullaby.