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Download Anne of Windy Poplars free in PDF & EPUB format. Download Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Windy Poplars for your kindle. Free PDF, epub, Kindle ebook. By Lucy Maud Montgomery. Anne of Windy Poplars, also published as Anne of Windy Willows in the UK, Download Kindle. They're known as the royal family of Summerside - and they quickly let Anne know she is not the person they had But as she settles into the cozy tower room at Windy Poplars, Anne finds she has great allies in the widows Aunt Kate and Download Feedbooks is an ebook retailer, designed with mobile reading in mind.

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Title: Anne of Windy Poplars Author: L M Montgomery eBook No. But in the dusk I'm free from both and belong only to myself and you. So I'm going to keep. Anne of Windy Poplars takes place over the three years between Anne's graduation from Redmond College and her marriage to Gilbert Blythe. While Gilbert is. Read "Anne of Windy Poplars" by L.M. Montgomery available from Rakuten Kobo . Anne Of Green Gables (Mobi Classics) ebook by Lucy Maud Montgomery . Top Free Classics: The Voyage of the Beagle .. Sourcebooks Fire; ISBN: ; Language: English; Download options: EPUB 2 (Adobe DRM).

Not in United States? Choose your country's store to see books available for purchase. See if you have enough points for this item. Sign in. Anne Shirley has a tendency to stir up controversy wherever she goes. And her new position as principal of Summerside High School is no exception. The Pringles, the ruling family in town, want one of their own in the job, and they've made it their mission to drive Annie out.

If the widows take you, you won't mind eating with Rebecca Dew, will you? She isn't a servant, you know. She's a far-off cousin of the Captain's. She doesn't come to the table when there's company. Braddock that I'd love eating with Rebecca Dew and dragged Mrs. Lynde away. I must get ahead of the banker. Her feelings are so easily hurt. She's so sensitive, poor thing. You see, she hasn't quite as much money as Aunt Kate.

And then Aunt Kate liked her husband real well. Small wonder! Lincoln MacLean was an old crank. It's lucky this is Saturday. If it was Friday Aunt Chatty wouldn't even consider taking you.

You'd think Aunt Kate would be the superstitious one, wouldn't you? Sailors are kind of like that. But it's Aunt Chatty. She was very pretty in her day, poor thing. Braddock that Aunt Chatty's feelings would be sacred to me, but she followed us down the walk. They're very conscientious. Rebecca Dew may, but she won't tell on you.

And I wouldn't go to the front door if I was you. They only use it for something real important. I don't think it's been opened since Amasa's funeral. Try the side door. They keep the key under the flower-pot on the window-sill, so if nobody's home just unlock the door and go in and wait. And whatever you do, don't praise the cat, because Rebecca Dew doesn't like him. Erelong we found ourselves in Spook's Lane.

It is a very short side street, leading out to open country, and far away a blue hill makes a beautiful back-drop for it. On one side there are no houses at all and the land slopes down to the harbor.

On the other side there are only three. The first one is just a house. The next one is a big, imposing, gloomy mansion of stone-trimmed red brick, with a mansard roof warty with dormer-windows, an iron railing around the flat top and so many spruces and firs crowding about it that you can hardly see the house.

It must be frightfully dark inside.

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And the third and last is Windy Poplars, right on the corner, with the grass-grown street on the front and a real country road, beautiful with tree shadows, on the other side. You know there are houses which impress themselves upon you at first sight for some reason you can hardly define.

Windy Poplars is like that. I may describe it to you as a white frame house. In short, it is a house with a delightful personality and has something of the flavor of Green Gables about it. It will be good exercise. Oh, look at that lovely birch and maple grove across the road. It looked so forbidding. It doesn't seem to belong to the house at all. The little green side door, which we reached by a darling path of thin, flat sandstones sunk at intervals in the grass, was much more friendly and inviting.

The path was edged by very prim, well-ordered beds of ribbon grass and bleeding-heart and tiger-lilies and sweet-William and southernwood and bride's bouquet and red-and-white daisies and what Mrs. Lynde calls 'pinies. There was a rose plot in a far corner and between Windy Poplars and the gloomy house next a brick wall all overgrown with Virginia creeper, with an arched trellis above a faded green door in the middle of it. A vine ran right across it, so it was plain it hadn't been opened for some time.

It was really only half a door, for its top half is merely an open oblong through which we could catch a glimpse of a jungly garden on the other side. Some impulse led me to stoop down and look at it. Would you believe it, Gilbert? There, right before my eyes, were three four-leafed clovers!

Talk about omens! Even the Pringles can't contend against that. And I felt sure the banker hadn't an earthly chance. We knocked and Rebecca Dew came to the door.

We knew it was Rebecca Dew because it couldn't have been any one else in the whole wide world. And she couldn't have had any other name. Everything about her is a little too short. It is long enough to reach from ear to ear. She looked very grim when I asked if I could see Mrs. Captain MacComber? MacCombers in the house. And we were forthwith ushered into the parlor and left there. It was rather a nice little room, a bit cluttered up with antimacassars but with a quiet, friendly atmosphere about it that I liked.

Every bit of furniture had its own particular place which it had occupied for years. How that furniture shone! No bought polish ever produced that mirror-like gloss. I knew it was Rebecca Dew's elbow grease. There was a full-rigged ship in a bottle on the mantelpiece which interested Mrs.


Lynde greatly. She couldn't imagine how it ever got into the bottle. I liked them at once. Aunt Kate was tall and thin and gray, and a little austere. Marilla's type exactly: She may have been very pretty once but nothing is now left of her beauty except her eyes. They are lovely. The cat came in with her. I should have liked to stroke him, but, remembering Mrs.

Braddock's warning, I ignored him. I don't think we can take her. You can't separate those names, Gilbert. It's impossible. They call her Rebecca when they speak to her. I don't know how they manage it.

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And I think it would be nice to have a young person sleeping in the house. A girl would be better than a boy any time. He'd be smoking day and night. If you must take a boarder, my advice would be to take her.

But of course it's your house. I knew the whole thing was settled but Aunt Chatty said I must go up and see if I was suited with my room. It's not quite as large as the spare room, but it has a stove-pipe hole for a stove in winter and a much nicer view.

You can see the old graveyard from it. I felt as if we were living in that old song we used to sing in Avonlea School about the maiden who 'dwelt in a high tower beside a gray sea. We ascended to it by a little flight of corner steps leading up from the stair-landing. It was rather small. It had two windows, a dormer one looking west and a gable one looking north, and in the corner formed by the tower another three-sided window with casements opening outward and shelves underneath for my books.

The floor was covered with round, braided rugs, the big bed had a canopy top and a 'wild-goose' quilt and looked so perfectly smooth and level that it seemed a shame to spoil it by sleeping in it. And, Gilbert, it is so high that I have to climb into it by a funny little movable set of steps which in daytime are stowed away under it.

It seems Captain MacComber bought the whole contraption in some 'foreign' place and brought it home. There was a round blue cushion on the window-seat. And there was a sweet washstand with two shelves.

It had a little brass-handled drawer full of towels and on a shelf over it a white china lady sat, with pink shoes and gilt sash and a red china rose in her golden china hair.

Somehow, it seemed such a happy room. I felt as if I were the richest girl in the world. Of course I hated to leave Green Gables. No matter how often and long I'm away from it, the minute a vacation comes I'm part of it again as if I had never been away, and my heart is torn over leaving it. But I know I'll like it here.

And it likes me. I always know whether a house likes me or not. From my west window I can see all over the harbor to distant, misty shores, with the dear little sail-boats I love and the ships outward bound 'for ports unknown'.

Such 'scope for imagination' in it! From the north window I can see into the grove of birch and maple across the road. You know I've always been a tree worshiper. When we studied Tennyson in our English course at Redmond I was always sorrowfully at one with poor Enone, mourning her ravished pines. Some valleys are lovable. Just to look at them gives you pleasure.

And beyond it again is my blue hill.

Anne of Windy Poplars (Anne of Green Gables #4)

I'm naming it Storm King. You know it's lovely to be alone once in a while. The winds will be my friends. They'll wail and sigh and croon around my tower. I've always envied the boy who flew with the north wind in that lovely old story of George MacDonald's. Some night, Gilbert, I'll open my tower casement and just step into the arms of the wind. I wonder where it is. Shall I love it best by moonlight or dawn? That home of the future where we will have love and friendship and work.

Old age! Can we ever be old, Gilbert? It seems impossible. People are living in those houses who will be my friends, though I don't know them yet. And perhaps my enemies. For the ilk of Pye are found everywhere, under all kinds of names, and I understand the Pringles are to be reckoned with. School begins tomorrow. I shall have to teach geometry! Surely that can't be any worse than learning it. I pray heaven there are no mathematical geniuses among the Pringles.

They've asked me to call them 'aunt' already and I've asked them to call me Anne. I called Rebecca Dew 'Miss Dew'. You'd better not do it any more, Miss Shirley, me not being used to it. Dew,' I said, trying my hardest to leave off the Dew but not succeeding.

Braddock was quite right in saying Aunt Chatty was sensitive. I discovered that at supper-time. Aunt Kate had said something about 'Chatty's sixty-sixth birthday. That is entirely too explosive a term for her performance.

She just overflowed. The tears welled up in her big brown eyes and brimmed over, effortlessly and silently. Aunts Kate and Chatty call him Dusty Miller, because that is his name, and Rebecca Dew calls him That Cat because she resents him and resents the fact that she has to give him a square inch of liver every morning and evening, clean his hairs off the parlor arm-chair seat with an old tooth-brush whenever he has sneaked in and hunt him up if he is out late at night.

Old Mrs. Campbell's dog.

I suppose he thought it was no use to take him to Mrs. Such a poor miserable little kitten, all wet and cold, with its poor little bones almost sticking through its skin. A heart of stone couldn't have refused it shelter. So Kate and I adopted it, but Rebecca Dew has never really forgiven us. We were not diplomatic that time.

We should have refused to take it in. I don't know if you've noticed. Summerside and Rebecca Dew may think she rules the roost but the widows know differently. But we pretended we did and Rebecca Dew simply wouldn't hear of it. I'm so glad we have you, dear. I feel sure you'll be a very nice person to cook for. I hope you'll like us all. Rebecca Dew has some very fine qualities. She was not so tidy when she came fifteen years ago as she is now.

Once Kate had to write her name. But she never had to do it again. Rebecca Dew can take a hint. I hope you'll find your room comfortable, dear. You may have the window open at night. Kate does not approve of night air but she knows boarders must have privileges.

She and I sleep together and we have arranged it so that one night the window is shut for her and the next it is open for me. One can always work out little problems like that, don't you think? Where there is a will there is always a way. Don't be alarmed if you hear Rebecca prowling a good deal in the night.

She is always hearing noises and getting up to investigate them. I think that is why she didn't want the banker. She was afraid she might run into him in her nightgown. I hope you won't mind Kate not talking much. It's just her way. And she must have so many things to talk of. I wish I had the subjects for conversation she has, but I've never been off P. I've often wondered why things should be arranged so.

But I suppose Providence knows best. I interjected remarks at suitable intervals, but they were of no importance. James Hamilton's up the road and Rebecca Dew goes there to milk her. There is any amount of cream and every morning and evening I understand Rebecca Dew passes a glass of new milk through the opening in the wall gate to Mrs.

Campbell's 'Woman. Who the Woman is, or who little Elizabeth is, I have yet to discover. Campbell is the inhabitant and owner of the fortress next door.

I never do sleep my first night in a strange bed and this is the very strangest bed I've ever seen. But I won't mind. I've always loved the night and I'll like lying awake and thinking over everything in life, past, present and to come.

Especially to come. I won't inflict such a long one on you again. But I wanted to tell you everything, so that you could picture my new surroundings for yourself. It has come to an end now, for far up the harbor the moon is 'sinking into shadow-land. It will reach Green Gables the day after tomorrow and Davy will bring it home from the post-office, and he and Dora will crowd around Marilla while she opens it and Mrs.

Lynde will have both ears open. That has made me homesick. Good-night, dearest, from one who is now and ever will be,. Across the road into the grove. There is a little dell there where the sun dapples the ferns. A brook meanders through it; there is a twisted mossy tree-trunk on which I sit, and the most delightful row of young sister birches.

After this, when I have a dream of a certain kind. I shall please my fancy with the belief that it came from my secret dell of birches and was born of some mystic union between the slenderest, airiest of the sisters and the crooning brook.

I love to sit there and listen to the silence of the grove. Have you ever noticed how many different silences there are, Gilbert? The silence of the woods.

All different because all the undertones that thread them are different. I'm sure if I were totally blind and insensitive to heat and cold I could easily tell just where I was by the quality of the silence about me.

But Mrs. Braddock was right. And as yet I don't see exactly how I'm going to solve it in spite of my lucky clovers. As Mrs. Braddock says, they are as smooth as cream.

I have come to the conclusion that there are just two kinds of people in Summerside. The ring-leader of them seems to be Jen Pringle, a green-eyed bantling who looks as Becky Sharp must have looked at fourteen.

I believe she is deliberately organizing a subtle campaign of insubordination and disrespect, with which I am going to find it hard to cope. She has a knack of making irresistibly comic faces and when I hear a smothered ripple of laughter running over the room behind my back I know perfectly well what has caused it, but so far I haven't been able to catch her out in it.

She has brains, too. There is a certain sparkle in everything she says or does and she has a sense of humorous situations which would be a bond of kinship between us if she hadn't started out by hating me. As it is, I fear it will be a long time before Jen and I can laugh together over anything. She does perpetrate some amusing howlers. Already I have been invited to two Pringle homes for supper.

Last night I was at James Pringle's. He looks like a college professor but is in reality stupid and ignorant. He talked a great deal about 'dis cip line,' tapping the tablecloth with a finger the nail of which was not impeccable and occasionally doing dreadful things to grammar. The Summerside High had always required a firm hand. He was afraid I was a leetle too young. I didn't say anything because if I had said anything I might have said too much.

So I was as smooth and creamy as any Pringle of them all could have been and contented myself with looking limpidly at him and saying inside of myself, 'You cantankerous, prejudiced old creature! Jen, in her parents' presence, was a model of decorum. But though her words were polite her tone was insolent. Every time she said 'Miss Shirley' she contrived to make it sound like an insult. And every time she looked at my hair I felt that it was just plain carroty red.

No Pringle, I am certain, would ever admit it was auburn. He says something to you and then, while you're replying, he is busy thinking out his next remark.

Stephen Pringle. Summerside abounds in widows. Millie has too much home work. Millie is a delicate child and must not be overworked. Bell never gave her home work.

She is a sensitive child that must be understood. Bell understood her so well! Stephen is sure I will, too, if I try! Stephen thinks I made Adam Pringle's nose bleed in class today by reason of which he had to go home. And I woke up last night and couldn't go to sleep again because I remembered an i I hadn't dotted in a question I wrote on the board. I'm certain Jen Pringle would notice it and a whisper will go around the clan about it.

As they are the 'e-light,' this may mean that socially I may be banned in Summerside. Well, we'll see. The battle is on but is not yet either won or lost. Still, I feel rather unhappy over it all. You can't reason with prejudice. I'm still just as I used to be in my childhood. I can't bear to have people not liking me. It isn't pleasant to think that the families of half my pupils hate me. And for no fault of my own. It is the injustice that stings me.

There go more italics! But a few italics really do relieve your feelings. There are some clever, ambitious, hard-working ones who are really interested in getting an education. Lewis Allen is paying for his board by doing housework at his boarding-house and isn't a bit ashamed of it. And Sophy Sinclair rides bareback on her father's old gray mare six miles in and six miles out every day. There's pluck for you!

If I can help a girl like that, am I to mind the Pringles?

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It isn't a boardinghouse. And they like me. I don't pet him much when Rebecca Dew is around because it really does irritate her. By day he is a homely, comfortable, meditative animal. Rebecca says it is because he is never allowed to stay out after dark.

She hates to stand in the back yard and call him. She says the neighbors will all be laughing at her. She calls in such fierce, stentorian tones that she really can be heard all over the town on a still night shouting for 'Puss.

Every day I like them better. Aunt Kate doesn't believe in reading novels, but informs me that she does not propose to censor my reading-matter. Aunt Chatty loves novels. She has a 'hidy-hole' where she keeps them.

It is in a chair seat which nobody but Aunt Chatty knows is more than a chair seat. She has shared the secret with me, because, I strongly suspect, she wants me to aid and abet her in the aforesaid smuggling. There shouldn't really be any need for hidy-holes at Windy Poplars, for I never saw a house with so many mysterious cupboards.

Though to be sure, Rebecca Dew won't let them be mysterious. She is always cleaning them out ferociously. I am sure she would make short work of a novel or a pack of cards if she found them. They are both a horror to her orthodox soul. Rebecca Dew says cards are the devil's books and novels even worse. The only things Rebecca ever reads, apart from her Bible, are the society columns of the Montreal Guardian.

She loves to pore over the houses and furniture and doings of millionaires. She has produced from somewhere a comfortable old wing chair of faded brocade that just fits my kinks and says, 'This is your chair. We'll keep it for you. Aunt Kate showed me her engagement ring she can't wear it because it has grown too small set with turquoises. But poor Aunt Chatty owned to me with tears in her eyes that she had never had an engagement ring. She does it every night to preserve her complexion, and has sworn me to secrecy because she doesn't want Aunt Kate to know it.

And I am sure Rebecca Dew thinks that no Christian woman should try to be beautiful. I used to slip down to the kitchen to do it after Kate had gone to sleep but I was always afraid of Rebecca Dew coming down. She has ears like a cat's even when she is asleep. If I could just slip in here every night and do it. Campbell who was a Pringle!

I haven't seen her but from what I can gather she is a very grim old lady. She has a maid, Martha Monkman, almost as ancient and grim as herself, who is generally referred to as 'Mrs. Campbell's Woman. Her mother, who is dead, was a granddaughter of Mrs. Campbell, who brought her up also. Her parents being dead. She married a certain Pierce Grayson, a 'Yankee,' as Mrs.

Rachel Lynde would say. She died when Elizabeth was born and as Pierce Grayson had to leave America at once to take charge of a branch of his firm's business in Paris, the baby was sent home to old Mrs. The story goes that he 'couldn't bear the sight of her' because she had cost her mother's life, and has never taken any notice of her.

This of course may be sheer gossip because neither Mrs. Campbell nor the Woman ever opens her lips about him. The things that she says sometimes! And they make her do it. Campbell says there are to be no cowards in her house. They watch her like two cats watching a mouse, and boss her within an inch of her life.

If she makes a speck of noise they nearly pass out. It's "hush, hush" all the time. I tell you that child is being hush-hushed to death. And what is to be done about it? She seems to me a bit pathetic. Aunt Kate says she is well looked after from a physical point of view. I can never forget what my own life was before I came to Green Gables. The only drawback will be that everybody I see will ask me how I like teaching in Summerside. I find it in my heart to wish I were there now with.

Isn't it delicious? What a thrill of superiority it must have given the grandfather! Wouldn't you really prefer it to 'Gilbert darling, etc. But, on the whole, I think I'm glad you're not the grandfather. It's wonderful to think we're young and have our whole lives before us. Last night I had such a lovely walk with myself.

I really had to go somewhere for it was just a trifle dismal at Windy Poplars. Aunt Chatty was crying in the sitting-room because her feelings had been hurt and Aunt Kate was crying in her bedroom because it was the anniversary of Captain Amasa's death and Rebecca Dew was crying in the kitchen for no reason that I could discover.

I've never seen Rebecca Dew cry before.

But when I tried tactfully to find out what was wrong she pettishly wanted to know if a body couldn't enjoy a cry when she felt like it. During her time in Summerside, Anne must learn to manage many of Summerside's inhabitants, including the clannish and resentful Pringle family, her bitter colleague Katherine Brooke, and others of Summerside's more eccentric residents.

Additionally, Anne befriends the young and lonely Elizabeth Grayson, a motherless member of the Pringle family who lives next door to Windy Poplars. She frequently visits Marilla at Green Gables.

Limit the size to characters. However, note that many search engines truncate at a much shorter size, about characters. Your suggestion will be processed as soon as possible. Lucy Maud. Anne, an 11 year old girl, the hero of a girls novel has become a worldwide bestseller, from Canada to Japan, for children to adults. Tourism based on Anne is an important part of Prince Edward Island's economy! Information on L. Montgomery has practically become an industry on its own: Brittany Cavallaro.

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