14 Little Women Read By Stephanie Poppins

Following 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, Amy gets in trouble.

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 7 Amy's Valley of Humiliation That boy is a perfect cyclops,

Isn't he?

Said Amy one day as Laurie clattered by on horseback with a flourish of his whip as he passed.

How dare you say so when he's got both his eyes,

And very handsome ones they are too,

Cried Joan,

Who resented any slighting remarks about her friend.

I didn't say anything about his eyes,

And I don't see why you need to fire up when I admire his writing.

Oh my goodness,

That little goose means a centaur,

And she called him a cyclops,

Exclaimed Jo with a burst of laughter.

It ain't be so rude,

It's only a lapse of lingy,

As Mr Davis says,

Retorted Amy,

Finishing Jo with her Latin.

I just wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse,

She added.

Why?

Asked Meg kindly,

For Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's second blunder.

I need it so much,

I'm dreadfully in debt,

And it won't be my turn to have the rag money for a month.

In debt,

Amy?

What do you mean?

Meg looked sober.

Why?

I owe at least a dozen pickled limes,

And I can't pay them,

You know,

Till I have money,

For mommy forbade my having anything charged at the shop.

Tell me about it,

The limes,

The fashion now,

Used to be pickling bits of rubber to make balls.

Meg tried to keep her countenance,

But Amy looked so grave and important.

The girls are always buying them,

Unless you want to be thought mean,

You must do it too.

It's nothing but limes now,

Everyone is sucking them in their desks at school time and trading them off for pencils,

Bead rings,

Paper dolls or something else.

If one girl likes another,

She gives her a lime,

If she's mad with her,

She eats one before her face,

And I don't even have a suck.

They're treat by turns,

I've had ever so many,

But I don't return them.

How much we'll pay them off,

And restore your credit,

Asked Meg,

Taking out her purse.

A quarter would more than do it,

And leave a few cents over for a treat for you.

Don't you like limes?

Not much,

You may have my share,

Here's the money,

Make it last as long as you can,

For it isn't very plenty,

You know.

Oh thank you,

It must be so nice to have pocket money,

It'll be a grand feast,

For I haven't had a lime this week.

The next day,

Amy was rather late at school,

But she could not resist the temptation of displaying with pardonable pride a moist brown paper parcel,

Before she consigned it to the inmost recess of her desk.

During the next few minutes,

The rumour that Amy March had got 24 delicious limes,

And was going to treat,

Circulated through her set,

And the attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming.

A distinguished personage happened to be visiting the school that morning,

And Amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise,

Which,

Honour to her foe,

Rankled in the soul of Miss Snow,

And caused Miss March to assume the airs of a studious young peacock.

But alas,

Pride goes before a fall,

And the revengeful Miss Snow turned the tables with disastrous success.

No sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments,

And bowed himself out,

Than,

Under pretence of asking an important question,

Miss Snow informed Mr Davis that Amy March had pickled limes in her desk.

Now Mr Davis declared limes a contraband article,

And solemnly vowed to for all,

Publicly,

The first person who was found breaking the law.

It was a most unfortunate moment for denouncing Amy,

And Miss Snow knew it.

Mr Davis had evidently taken his coffee too strong that morning,

There was an east wind which always affected his neuralgia,

And his pupils had not done him the credit he deserved.

Young lady's attention,

If you please,

He said,

And as the stern order made the buzz cease,

And fifty pairs of blue,

Black,

Grey and brown eyes obediently fixed on him,

He said,

Miss March,

Come to the desk.

Amy rose to comply with outward composure,

But a secret fear oppressed her,

For the limes weighed upon her conscience.

Bring with you the limes you have in your desk,

Was the unexpected command.

Don't take them all,

Whispered her neighbour,

So Amy hastily shook out half a dozen,

And laid the rest down before Mr Davis,

Feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent when that delicious perfume met his nose.

Unfortunately,

Mr Davis particularly detested the odour of the fashionable pickle,

And disgust added to his wrath.

Is that all?

Not quite,

Stammered Amy.

Then bring the rest immediately.

With a despairing glance at her set,

Amy obeyed.

You're sure there are no more?

I never lie,

Sir.

So I see.

Now take these disgusting things two by two and throw them out of the window.

There was a simultaneous sigh which created quite a little gust as the last hope fled and the treat was ravished from their longing lips.

Scarlet with shame and anger,

Amy went to and fro six dreadful times,

And as each doomed couple looking so plump and juicy fell from her reluctant hands,

A shout from the street completed the anguish of the girls,

For it told them their feast was being exalted over by the little Irish children who were their sworn foes.

As Amy returned from her last trip,

Mr Davis gave her a portentous hem and said,

In his most impressive manner,

Young ladies,

You remember what I said to you a week ago.

I'm sorry this has happened,

But I never allow my rules to be infringed and I never break my word.

Miss March,

Hold out your hand.

Amy started and put both hands behind her,

Turning on him an imploring look which pleaded for her better than the word she could not utter.

She was rather a favourite with old Davis,

And it's my private belief he would have broken his word if the indignant of one irrepressible young lady,

Miss Snow,

Had not found vent in a hiss.

Your hand,

Miss March,

Was the only answer her mute appeal received,

And too proud to cry or beseech,

Amy set her teeth,

Drew back her head defiantly,

And bore without flinching several tingling blows.

They were neither many nor heavy,

But that made no difference.

For the first time in her life she'd been struck,

And the disgrace in her eyes was as deep as if Mr Davis had knocked her down.

You will now stand on the platform till recess,

He said,

Resolved to do the thing thoroughly since he had begun.

This was dreadful.

It would have been bad enough to go to her seat and see the pitying faces of her friends or the satisfied ones of Miss Snow and her enemies,

But to face the whole school with that shame fresh upon her seemed impossible,

And for a second she felt as if she could only drop down where she stood and break her heart with cry.

But the thought of Jenny Snow helped her to bear it.

She took the innominous place and fixed her eyes on the stove funnel above,

What now seemed a sea of faces,

And stood there so motionless and white that the girls found it very hard to study with that pathetic figure before them.

During the next fifteen minutes the proud and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot.

To her it was a hard experience,

For during the twelve years of her life she'd been governed by love alone,

And a blow of that sort had never touched her before.

The smart of her hand and the ache of her heart were forgotten in the sting of the thought,

I shall have to tell at home and they'll be so disappointed in me.

Those fifteen minutes seemed an hour,

But they came to an end at last and the word recess had never seemed so welcome.

You can go Miss March,

Said Mr Davis,

Looking as he felt very uncomfortable.

He did not soon forget the reproachful glance Amy gave him as she went,

Without a word to anyone,

Straight into the ante-room.

Then she snatched her things and left the place forever,

As she passionately declared.

She was in a sad state when she got home,

And when the older girls arrived some time later,

An indignation meeting was held at once.

Mrs March did not say much but she looked disturbed.

She comforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner.

Meg bathed the insulted hand with glistening tears.

Beth felt even her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this.

Jo wrathfully proposed Mr Davis be arrested without delay.

And Hannah shook her fist at the felon whilst pounding potatoes for dinner as if she had him under her pestle.

Just before school closed,

Jo appeared,

Wearing a grim expression,

As she stalked up to Mr Davis' desk and delivered a letter from her mother.

Then she collected Amy's property and departed,

Carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the doormat as if she shook the dust of the place off her feet.

Yes,

You can have a vacation from school,

Said Mrs March,

But I want you to study every day with Beth.

I don't approve of corporal punishment,

She added,

Especially for girls.

I dislike Mr Davis' manner of teaching and I don't think the girls you associate with are doing you any good.

So I shall ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere else.

Oh,

That's good,

Sighed Amy with the air of a martyr.

I wish all the girls would leave and spoil his old school.

It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes.

I'm not sorry you lost them,

Said Mrs March severely.

You broke the rules and deserve some punishment.

Do you mean you're glad I was disgraced before the whole school?

Cried Amy.

I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault,

Said her mother,

But I'm not sure it won't do you more good than a milder method.