Sleep Story: Little Women Ch 8

Enjoy this sleep story to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read Chapter 8 of the timeless classic, Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. This chapter describes when Joe and Amy quarrel and the bonds of sisterhood that bring them back together. This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic or find adventure before a great night's sleep. This beautiful photo was captured in Colorado by Oliver Pierce.

Transcript

8.

Joe meets Apollyon.

Girls,

Where are you going?

Asked Amy,

Coming into their room one Saturday afternoon and finding them getting ready to go out with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.

Never mind,

Little girls shouldn't ask questions,

Returned Joe sharply.

Now if there's anything mortifying to our feelings when we are young,

It's to be told that and to be bitten away to run away,

Dear,

Is still more trying to us.

Amy brindled up this insult and determined to find out the secret if she was teased for an hour.

Turning to Meg,

Who never refused her anything very long,

She said coaxingly,

Do tell me.

I should think you might let me go too,

For Beth is fussing over her piano and I haven't got anything to do and I'm so lonely.

I can't,

Dear,

Because you aren't invited,

Began Meg.

But Joe broke in impatiently.

Now Meg,

Be quiet or you will spoil it all.

You can't go,

Amy,

So don't be a baby and whine about it.

You're going somewhere with Lori,

I know you are.

You were whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night and you stopped when I came in.

Aren't you going with him?

Yes we are.

Now do be still and stop bothering.

Amy held her tongue but used her eyes and saw Meg slip a fan into her pocket.

I know,

I know,

You're going to the theater to see the Seven Castles,

She cried,

Adding resolutely,

And I shall go,

For mother said I might see it and I've got my rag money and it was mean not to tell me in time.

Just listen to me a minute and be a good child,

Said Meg,

Soothingly.

Mother doesn't wish you to go this week because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this very piece.

Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah and have a nice time.

I don't like that half as well as going with you and Lori.

Please let me.

I've been sick with this cold so long and shut up,

I'm dying for some fun.

Do Meg,

I'll be ever so good,

Pleaded Amy,

Looking as pathetic as she could.

Suppose we take her.

I don't believe mother would mind if we bundle her up well,

Began Meg.

If she goes I shan't and if I don't,

Lori won't like it and it will be very rude after he invited only us to go and drag in Amy.

I should think she'd hate to poke herself where she isn't wanted,

Said Joe Crossley,

For she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child when she just wanted to enjoy herself.

Her tone and manner angered Amy,

Who began to put her boots on saying in her most aggravating way,

I shall go.

Meg says I may,

And if I pay for myself,

Lori hasn't anything to do with it.

You can't sit with us,

For our seats are reserved and you mustn't sit alone,

So Lori will give you his place and that will spoil our pleasure.

Or he'll get another seat for you and that isn't proper when you weren't asked.

You shan't stir a step,

So you may just stay where you are,

Scolded Joe,

Crosser than ever,

Having just pricked her finger in her hurry.

Sitting on the floor with one boot on,

Amy began to cry and Meg to reason with her when Lori called from below and the two girls hurried down,

Leaving their sister wailing.

For now and then she forgot her grown up ways and acted like a spoiled child.

Just as the party was setting out,

Amy called over the banisters in a threatening tone.

We'll be sorry for this,

Joe March,

See if you ain't.

Fiddlesticks returned Joe,

Slamming the door.

They had a charming time.

For the seven castles of the Diamond Lake was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish.

But in spite of the comical red imps,

Sparkling elves,

And the gorgeous princes and princesses,

Joe's pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it.

The fairy queen's yellow curls reminded her of Amy.

And between the acts she amused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her sorry for it.

She and Amy had had many lively squirmishes in the course of their lives,

For both had quick tempers and were apt to be violent when fairly roused.

Amy teased Joe,

And Joe irritated Amy,

And semi-occasional explosions occurred,

Of which both were much ashamed afterwards.

Although the oldest,

Joe had the least self-control,

And had hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble.

Her anger never lasted long,

And having humbly confessed her fault,

She sincerely repented and tried to do better.

Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Joe into a fury because she was such an angel afterwards.

Poor Joe tried desperately to be good,

But her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat her,

And it took years of patient effort to subdue it.

When they got home,

They found Amy reading in the parlor.

She assumed an injured air as they came in,

Never lifting her eyes from the book,

Or asked a single question.

Perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowing description of the play.

On going up to put away her best hat,

Joe's first look was towards her bureau.

For in their last quarrel,

Amy had soothed her feelings by turning Joe's top drawer upside down on the floor.

Everything was in its place,

However,

And after a hasty glance into her various closets,

Bags,

And boxes,

Joe decided that Amy had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.

There Joe was mistaken.

For next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest.

Meg,

Beth,

And Amy were sitting together late in the afternoon when Joe burst into the room,

Looking excited and demanding breathlessly.

Has anyone taken my book?

Meg and Beth said no at once and looked surprised.

Amy poked the fire and said nothing.

Joe saw her color rise and was down upon her in a minute.

Amy,

You've got it.

No,

I haven't.

You know where it is then.

No,

I don't.

That's a fib,

Cried Joe,

Taking her by the shoulders and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.

It isn't.

I haven't got it.

I don't know where it is now and don't care.

You know something about it and you'd better tell at once or I'll make you.

And Joe gave her a slight shake.

Scold as much as you'd like.

You'll never see your silly old book again,

Cried Amy,

Getting excited in her turn.

Why not?

I burned it up.

What?

My little book I was so fond of and worked over and meant to finish before father got home?

Have you really burned it?

Said Joe,

Turning very pale,

While her eyes kindled and her hands clutched Amy nervously.

Yes I did.

I told you I'd make you pay for being so cross yesterday and I have so.

Amy got no farther,

For Joe's hot temper mastered her and she shook Amy till her teeth chattered in her head,

Crying in a passion of grief and anger.

You wicked,

Wicked girl.

I never can write it again and I'll never forgive you as long as I live.

Meg flew to rescue Amy and Beth to pacify Joe,

But Joe was quite beside herself and with a parting box on her sister's ears she rushed out of the room onto the old sofa in the garret and finished her fight alone.

The storm cleared up below,

For Mrs.

March came home now and having heard the story,

Soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her sister.

Joe's book was the pride of her heart and was regarded by her family as a literary spout of great promise.

It was only half a dozen little fairy tales,

But Joe had worked over them patiently,

Putting her whole heart into her work,

Hoping to make something good enough to print.

She had just copied them with great care and had destroyed the old manuscript so that Amy's bonfire had consumed the loving work of several years.

It seemed a small loss to others,

But to Joe it was a dreadful calamity and she felt that it never could be made up to her.

Beth mourned as for a departed kitten and Meg refused to defend her pet.

Miss March looked grave and grieved and Amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she now regretted more than any of them.

When the T-bell rang,

Joe appeared,

Looking so grim and unapproachable that it took all Amy's courage to say meekly,

"'Please forgive me,

Joe.

I'm very,

Very sorry.

' "'I shall never forgive you,

' was Joe's stern answer and from that moment on she ignored Amy entirely.

No one spoke of the great trouble,

Not even Miss March,

For all had learned by experience that when Joe was in that mood,

Words were wasted and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident or her own generous nature softened Joe's resentment and healed the breach.

It was not a happy evening,

For though they sowed as usual,

While their mother read aloud from Bremer,

Scott,

Or Edgeworth,

Something was wanting and the sweet home piece was disturbed.

They felt this most when singing time came,

For Beth could only play.

Joe stood dumb as a stone and Amy broke down,

So Meg and mother sang alone,

But in spite of their efforts to be as cheery as larks,

The flute-like voices did not seem to chord as well as usual and all felt out of tune.

As Joe received her good night kiss,

Miss March whispered gently,

"'My dear,

Don't let the sun go down upon your anger.

Forgive each other,

Help each other,

And begin again tomorrow.

' Joe wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom and cry her grief and anger all the way,

But tears were an unmanly weakness and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet.

So she winked hard,

Shook her head,

And said gruffly because Amy was listening.

It was an imbominable thing and she doesn't deserve to be forgiven.

With that she marched off to bed and there was no merry or confidential gossip that night.

" Amy was much offended that her overtures of peace had been repulsed and began to wish she had not humbled herself to feel more injured than ever and to plume herself on the superior virtue in a way which was particularly exasperating.

Joe still looked like a thunder cloud and nothing went well all day.

It was bitter cold in the morning.

She dropped her precious turnover in the gutter.

Aunt March had an attack of the fidgets.

Meg was sensitive.

Beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home.

And Amy kept making remarks about people who were always talking about being good and yet wouldn't even try when other people set them a virtuous example.

"'Everyone is so hateful.

I'll ask Laurie to go skating.

He is always kind and jolly and he will put me to rights,

I know,

' said Joe to herself.

And off she went.

" Amy heard the clash of skates and looked out with an impatient exclamation.

There she promised I should go next time,

For this is the last ice we shall have.

But it's no use to ask such a cross-patch to take me.

" "'Don't say that.

You were very naughty and it is hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book.

But I think she might go do it now.

And I guess she will if you try to give her the right minute,

' said Meg.

"'Go after them.

Don't say anything till Joe has a good natured with Laurie.

And then take a quiet minute and just kiss her or do some kind thing and I'm sure she'll be friends again with all her heart.

' "'I'll try,

' said Amy,

For the advice suited her and after a flurry to get ready she ran after the friends who were just disappearing over the hill.

It was not far to the river,

But both were ready before Amy reached them.

Joe saw her coming and turned her back.

Laurie did not see,

For he was carefully skating along the shore,

Sounding the ice,

For a warm spell had preceded the cold snap.

"'I'll go on to the first bend and see if it's all right before we begin to race,

' Amy heard him say as he shot away,

Looking like a young Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.

Joe heard Amy panting after her run,

Stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers as she tried to put her skates on.

But Joe never turned and went slowly zigzagging down the river,

Taking a bitter,

Unhappy sort of satisfaction in her sister's troubles.

She had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession of her,

As evil thoughts and feelings always do,

Unless cast out at once.

As Laurie turned the bend,

He shouted back.

"'Keep near the shore.

It isn't safe in the middle,

' Joe heard.

But Amy was struggling to her feet and did not catch a word.

Joe glanced over her shoulder,

And the little demon was harboring said in her ear.

No matter whether she heard or not,

Let her take care of herself.

' Laurie had vanished round the bend.

Joe was just at the turn,

And Amy far behind,

Striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of the river.

For a minute Joe stood still with a strange feeling in her heart.

Then she resolved to go on.

But something held and turned her around,

Just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down.

With a sudden crash of rotten ice,

The splash of water,

And a cry that made Joe's heart stand still with fear.

She tried to call Laurie,

But her voice had gone.

She tried to rush forward,

But her feet seemed to have no strength in them.

And for a second she could only stand motionless,

Staring,

With a terror-stricken face,

At the little blue hood above the black water.

Something rushed swiftly by her,

And Laurie's voice cried out.

"'Bring a rail.

Quick.

Quick.

' How she did it she never knew,

But for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed,

Blindly obeying Laurie,

Who was quite self-possessed and laying flat,

Held Amy up by his arm and hockey stick till Joe dragged a rail from the fence.

And together they got the child out,

More frightened than hurt.

Now then,

We must walk her home as fast as we can.

Pile our things on her while I get off these confounding skates,

' cried Laurie,

Wrapping his coat around Amy and tugging away at the straps,

Which never seemed so intricate before.

Shivering,

Dripping,

And crying,

They got Amy home,

And after an exciting time of it she fell asleep,

Rolled in blankets before a hot fire.

During the bustle Joe had scarcely spoken,

But flown about,

Looking pale and wild,

With her things half off,

Her dress torn,

And her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles.

When Amy was comfortably asleep,

The house quiet,

And Miss March sitting by the bed,

She called Joe to her and began to bind up the hurt hands.

"'Are you sure she is safe?

' whispered Joe,

Looking remorsefully at the golden head,

Which might have been swept away from her sight forever under the treacherous ice.

"'Stay safe,

Dear.

She is not hurt,

And won't even take cold,

I think.

You were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly,

' replied her mother cheerfully.

Laurie did it all.

I only let her go.

Mother,

If she should die it would be my fault.

' And Joe dropped down beside the bed in a passion of penitent tears,

Telling all that had happened.

Bitterly condemning her hardness of heart,

And sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.

"'It's my dreadful temper.

I try to cure it.

I think I have,

And then it breaks out worse than ever.

Oh,

Mother,

What shall I do?

What shall I do?

' cried poor Joe in despair.

"'Watch and pray.

Never get tired of trying,

And never think it is impossible to conquer your fault,

' said Miss March,

Drawing the blousy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheeks so tenderly that Joe cried even harder.

"'You don't know.

You can't guess how bad it is.

It seems as if I could do anything when I'm in a passion.

I get so savage.

I could hurt someone,

And enjoy it.

I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful some day,

And spoil my life,

And make everybody hate me.

Oh,

Mother,

Help me.

Do help me.

' "'I will,

My child,

I will.

Don't cry so bitterly,

But remember this day,

And resolve with all your soul that you will never know another like it.

Joe,

Dear,

We all have our temptations,

Some far greater than yours,

And it often takes us all our lives to conquer them.

You think your temper is the worst in the world,

But mine used to be just like it.

Yours,

Mother?

Why,

You're never angry.

' And for a moment Joe forgot remorse in surprise.

I've been trying to cure it for forty years,

And have only succeeded in controlling it.

I am angry nearly every day of my life,

Joe,

But I have learned not to show it,

And I still hope to learn not to feel it,

Though it may take me another forty years to do so.

' The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a better lesson to Joe than the wisest lecture,

The sharpest reproof.

She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her.

The knowledge that her mother had a fault like hers,

And tried to mend it,

Made her own easier to bear,

And strengthened her resolution to cure it,

Though forty years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray to a girl of fifteen.

Mother,

Are you angry when you fold your lips tight together and go out of the room sometimes,

When Aunt March scolds or people worry you?

Miss Joe,

Feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than ever before.

Yes,

I've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips,

And when I feel that they mean to break out against my will,

I just go away for a minute and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked,

' answered Miss March with a sigh and a smile,

As she smoothed and fastened up Joe's disheveled hair.

How did you learn to keep still?

That is what troubles me,

For the sharp words fly out before I know what I'm about,

And the more I say,

The worse I get,

Till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and say dreadful things.

Tell me how you do it,

Marme dear.

My good mother used to help me.

As you do us,

Interrupted Joe with a grateful kiss.

But I lost her when I was a little older than you are,

And for years had to struggle on alone,

For I was too proud to confess my weakness to anyone else.

I had a hard time,

Joe,

And shed a good many bitter tears over my failures,

For in spite of my efforts,

I never seemed to get on.

Then your father came,

And I was so happy that I found it easy to be good.

But by and by,

When I had four little daughters round me and we were poor and the old trouble began again,

For I am not patient by nature,

And it tried me very much to see my children wanting anything.

Poor mother,

What helped you then?

Your father,

Joe,

He never loses patience,

Never doubts or complains,

But always hopes and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him.

He helped and comforted me,

And showed me that I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess,

For I was their example.

It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own.

A startled or surprised look from one of you when I spoke sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done.

And the love,

Respect,

And confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts.

To be the woman,

I would have them copy.

Oh mother,

If I'm ever half as good as you,

I shall be satisfied,

Cried Joe,

Much touched.

I hope you will be a great deal better,

Dear,

But you must keep watch over your bosom enemy,

As father calls it,

Or it may sadden,

If not spoil,

Your life.

You've had a warning,

Remember it,

And try with heart and soul to master this quick temper before it brings you great sorrow and regret than you have known today.

I will try,

Mother,

I truly will,

But you must help me,

Remind me,

And keep me from flying out.

I used to see father sometimes put his finger on his lips and look at you with a very kind but sober face,

And you always folded your lips tight and went away.

Was he reminding you then?

Asked Joe softly.

Yes,

I asked him to help me so,

And he never forgot it,

But saved me from many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look.

Joe saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled as she spoke,

And fearing that she had said too much,

She whispered anxiously.

Was it wrong to watch you and to speak of you?

I didn't mean to be rude,

But it's so comfortable to say all I think to you and feel so safe and happy here.

My Joe,

You may say anything to your mother,

For it is my greatest happiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me and know how much I love them.

I thought I'd grieved you.

No,

Dear,

But speaking of father reminded me how much I miss him,

How much I owe him,

And how faithfully I should watch and work to keep his little daughters safe and good for him.

Yet you told him to go,

Mother,

And didn't cry when he went,

And never complain,

Or seem as if you needed any help,

Said Joe,

Wondering.

I gave my best to the country I love and kept my tears till he was gone.

Why should I complain when we both have merely done our duty and will surely be happier for it in the end?

If I don't seem to need help,

It is because I have a better friend even than father to comfort and sustain me.

My child,

The troubles and temptations of your life are beginning,

And may be many,

But you can overcome and outlive them all if you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your heavenly father as you do that of your earthly one.

The more you love and trust him,

The nearer you will feel to him,

And the less you will depend on human power and wisdom.

His love and care never tire or change,

Can never be taken from you,

But may become the source of lifelong peace,

Happiness,

And strength.

Believe this heartily,

And go to God with all your little cares and hopes and sins and sorrows as freely,

As confidingly as you do to your mother.

And whose only answer was to hold her mother close,

And in the silence which followed the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed,

Left her heart without words.

For in that sad yet happy hour,

She had learned not only the bitterness of remorse and despair,

But the sweetness of self-denial and self-control.

And led by her mother's hand,

She had drawn nearer to the friend who always welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of any father,

And tenderer than that of any mother.

Amy stirred and sighed in her sleep,

And as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault,

Joe looked up with an expression on her face which it had never worn before.

I let the sun go down on my anger.

I wouldn't forgive her,

And today,

If it hadn't been for Laurie,

It might have been too late.

How could I be so wicked?

Said Joe,

Half aloud,

As she leaned over her sister so softly,

Stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.

As if she heard,

Amy opened her eyes and held out her arms with a smile that went straight to Joe's heart.

Neither said a word,

But they hugged one another close in spite of the blankets,

And everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.

And that is the end of our story.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.

Reviews

I enjoyed the deep exploration of feelings and family relationships. You must be a professional voice actor! So pleasant and easy to listen. 😀

Poor Amy! She was pretty bad though, I loved it! 🥶❄️🧊

I love this book! I was trying to find a autio book of it and then I found this and I have no trouble falling asleep anymore 😴😴🥱

Excellent reading. Very dramatic chapter!