Anne of windy poplars ebook pdf

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.

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Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format. Anne of Windy Poplars Author : L. In this novel, year-old Anne has left college to serve as principal of Summerside High School and settles down in Windy Poplars.

Anne has to overcome opposition to her presence from an influential family, the Pringles. The Pringles family make it well known she was not what they had hoped for in their new Prinicipal.

This early work by Lucy Maud Montgomery was originally published in and we are now republishing it with a brand new introductory biography. Her mother, Clara Woolner Macneil , died before Lucy reached the age of two and so she was raised by her maternal grandparents in a family of wealthy Scottish immigrants.

In Montgomery produced her first full-length novel, titled 'Anne of Green Gables'. Lucy Maud Montgomery — , was a Canadian author best known for a series of novels beginning with Anne of Green Gables. Montgomery went on to publish 20 novels as well as short stories, poems, and 30 essays. Anne Of Windy Poplars L. Anne Shirley - The book's main protagonist. After becoming engaged to Gilbert Blythe, Anne accepts the job of Summerside High principal until Gilbert finishes medical school.

Summerside believes that she rules the 'widows' with her outspoken ways and her demands. However, her employers have long learned to manage her through reverse psychology. She is genuinely fond of Anne and very kind. Elizabeth Grayson - A lonely and unhappy child that lives next door to Anne. Her father left her to work overseas when Elizabeth's mother died. Elizabeth changes her name, calling herself Lizzie or Bess, based on her mood.

She worships Anne and Anne, in turn, loves and cares for Elizabeth. Anne tries to find ways to bring joy to Elizabeth's life. She resents Anne because she believes that she should have been offered the job as Principal. Katherine is sarcastic and bitter, but a good teacher. Anne of Windy Poplarsby L. She is dark and swarthy, with magnificent black hair always dragged back from her high forehead and coiled in a clumsy knot at the base of her neck.

Her eyes don't match her hair, being a clear, light amber under her black brows. She has ears she needn't be ashamed to show and the most beautiful hands I've ever seen. Also, she has a well-cut mouth. But she dresses terribly. Seems to have a positive genius for getting the colors and lines she should not wear.

Dull dark greens and drab grays, when she is too sallow for greens and grays, and stripes which make her tall, lean figure even taller and leaner. And her clothes always look as if she'd slept in them.

Every time I pass her on the stairs I feel that she is thinking horrid things about me. Every time I speak to her she makes me feel I've said the wrong thing. And yet I'm very sorry for her. And I can't do anything to help her because she doesn't want to be helped. She is really hateful to me. One day, when we three teachers were all in the staff room, I did something which, it seems, transgressed one of the unwritten laws of the school, and Katherine said cuttingly, 'Perhaps you think you are above rules, Miss Shirley.

Katherine is so much more alluring than Catherine, just as K is ever so much gypsier a letter than smug C. She is small, pale, golden and wistful. Her eyes, looking at me through the autumn twilight, are large and golden-hazel. Her silver-gold hair was parted in the middle, sleeked plainly down over her head with a circular comb, and fell in waves on her shoulders.

She wore a pale blue gingham dress and the expression of a princess of elf-land. She had what Rebecca Dew calls 'a delicate air,' and gave me the impression of a child who was more or less undernourished. More of a moonbeam than a sunbeam. I was Elizabeth last night and tomorrow night I'll prob'ly be Beth. It all depends on how I feel. I never can feel like Lizzie. I felt that I was being weighed in some secret spiritual balance and presently I realized thankfully that I had not been found wanting.

For little Elizabeth asked a favor of me. I lifted him and little Elizabeth put out a tiny hand and stroked his head delightedly. And the Woman hates them. The Woman is out tonight, so that is why I could come for the milk. I love coming for the milk because Rebecca Dew is such an agree'ble person. You are very agree'ble, too. I've been wanting to get 'quainted with you but I was afraid it mightn't happen before Tomorrow comes.

The Woman had told her that Tomorrow never comes, but Elizabeth knows better. It will come sometime. Some beautiful morning she will just wake up and find it is Tomorrow.

Not Today but Tomorrow. And then things will happen. She may even have a day to do exactly as she likes in, with nobody watching her. Or she may find out what is at the end of the harbor road. Perhaps the Island of Happiness is there. Elizabeth feels sure there is an Island of Happiness somewhere where all the ships that never come back are anchored, and she will find it when Tomorrow comes.

I told Grandmother that when she wouldn't let me have a kitten, Miss Shirley, and she was angry and said, "I'm not 'customed to be spoken to like that, Miss Impert'nence. And I couldn't sleep, Miss Shirley, because the Woman told me that she knew a child once that died in her sleep after being impert'nent. I think we had been watched all the time. My elf-maiden ran, her golden head glimmering along the dark spruce aisle until she vanished.

She was looking clean through me at something she saw in that Tomorrow of hers. The trouble with that child is she doesn't laugh enough. I feel that she hasn't learned how.

The great house is so still and lonely and laughterless. It looks dull and gloomy even now when the world is a riot of autumn color. Little Elizabeth is doing too much listening to lost whispers. Rebecca Dew was really excited. And she was quite sure it was not out of friendliness. It's very becoming. I could love them if they'd let me. Maplehurst is a proud, exclusive house which draws its trees around it and won't associate with common houses.

It has a big, white, wooden woman off the bow of old Captain Abraham's famous ship, the Go and Ask Her, in the orchard and billows of southernwood about the front steps, which was brought out from the old country over a hundred years ago by the first emigrating Pringle.

They have another ancestor who fought at the battle of Minden and his sword is hanging on the parlor wall beside Captain Abraham's portrait. Captain Abraham was their father and they are evidently tremendously proud of him.

It was hung with silver-stripe wallpaper. Heavy brocade curtains at the windows. Marble-topped tables, one bearing a beautiful model of a ship with crimson hull and snow-white sails--the Go and Ask Her. An enormous chandelier, all glass and dingle-dangles, suspended from the ceiling.

A round mirror with a clock in the center. I'd like something like it in our house of dreams. Miss Ellen showed me millions. A big tortoise-shell cat came in, jumped on my knee and was at once whisked out to the kitchen by Miss Ellen.

She apologized to me. But I expect she had previously apologized to the cat in the kitchen. Miss Sarah, a tiny thing in a black silk dress and starched petticoat, with snow-white hair and eyes as black as her dress, thin, veined hands folded on her lap amid fine lace ruffles, sad, lovely, gentle, looked almost too fragile to talk.

And yet I got the impression, Gilbert, that every Pringle of the clan, including Miss Ellen herself, danced to her piping. The water was cold, the linen beautiful, the dishes and glassware thin.

We were waited on by a maid, quite as aloof and aristocratic as themselves. But Miss Sarah pretended to be a little deaf whenever I spoke to her and I thought every mouthful would choke me. All my courage oozed out of me. I felt just like a poor fly caught on fly-paper. Gilbert, I can never, never conquer or win the Royal Family. I can see myself resigning at New Year's. I haven't a chance against a clan like that.

It had once lived. And now it has nothing but the memories by which they live. She is sure it foretells a death in the household. Aunt Kate is very much disgusted with such superstition. But I believe I rather like superstitious people. They lend color to life. Wouldn't it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible. What would we find to talk about? Dusty Miller stayed out all night, in spite of Rebecca Dew's stentorian shouts of 'Puss' in the back yard.

And when he turned up in the morning. One eye was closed completely and there was a lump as big as an egg on his jaw. His fur was stiff with mud and one paw was bitten through. But what a triumphant, unrepentant look he had in his one good eye! The widows were horrified but Rebecca Dew said exultantly, 'That Cat has never had a good fight in his life before.

And I'll bet the other cat looks far worse than he does! Weeds and leaves are burning in all the town gardens and the combination of smoke and fog is making Spook's Lane an eerie, fascinating, enchanted place. It is growing late and my bed says, 'I have sleep for you. Oh, Gilbert, I've never told any one this, but it's too funny to keep any longer. The first morning I woke up in Windy Poplars I forgot all about the steps and made a blithe morning-spring out of bed.

I came down like a thousand of brick, as Rebecca Dew would say. Luckily I didn't break any bones, but I was black and blue for a week.

She comes every evening for her milk because the Woman is laid up with what Rebecca Dew calls 'brownkites. We talk with the gate, which has never been opened for years, between us. Elizabeth sips the glass of milk as slowly as possible in order to spin our conversation out.

Always, when the last drop is drained, comes the tap-tap on the window. She had never got one. I wonder what the man can be thinking of. When she is Betty she makes faces at her grandmother and the Woman behind their backs; but when she turns into Elsie she is sorry for it and thinks she ought to confess, but is scared to.

Very rarely she is Elizabeth and then she has the face of one who listens to fairy music and knows what roses and clovers talk about. She's the quaintest thing, Gilbert. It infuriates me to know that those two terrible old women make her go to bed in the dark. But I feel so small, Miss Shirley, because the night is so big and awful. And there is a stuffed crow in my room and I am afraid of it.

The Woman told me it would pick my eyes out if I cried. Of course, Miss Shirley, I don't believe that, but still I'm scared. Things whisper so to each other at night.

But in Tomorrow I'll never be scared of anything. But you're not a strange person, are you, Miss Shirley? But I can't hate Rebecca Dew in spite of her habit of using my pen to copy recipes when I'm in school.

She's been doing it again and as a result you won't get a long or a loving letter this time. The evenings are so chilly now that I have a small chubby, oblong wood-stove in my room. Rebecca Dew put it up. I forgive her the pen for it. There's nothing that woman can't do; and she always has a fire lighted for me in it when I come home from school. It is the tiniest of stoves.

I could pick it up in my hands. It looks just like a pert little black dog on its four bandy iron legs. But when you fill it with hardwood sticks it blooms rosy red and throws a wonderful heat and you can't think how cozy it is. I'm sitting before it now, with my feet on its tiny hearth, scribbling to you on my knee. I was not invited. But when I think of Hardy's daughter Myra, beautiful and brainless, trying to prove in an examination paper that the angels at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, I forgive the entire Pringle clan.

And last week she included 'gallows tree' quite seriously in a list of trees! But, to be just, all the howlers don't originate with the Pringles. Blake Fenton defined an alligator recently as 'a large kind of insect.

I like an evening when it feels like snow. The wind is blowing 'in turret and tree' and making my cozy room seem even cozier. The last golden leaf will be blown from the aspens tonight. I mean to the homes of all my pupils, both in town and country. And oh, Gilbert darling, I am so sick of pumpkin preserves!

Never, never let us have pumpkin preserves in our house of dreams. The first time I had it I loved it.

It got bruited about that I was very fond of P. Last night I was going to Mr. Hamilton's and Rebecca Dew assured me that I wouldn't have to eat P. But when we sat down to supper, there on the sideboard was the inevitable cut-glass bowl full of P.

Hamilton, ladling me out a generous dishful, 'but I heard you was terrible partial to it, so when I was to my cousin's in Lowvale last Sunday I sez to her, "I'm having Miss Shirley to supper this week and she's terrible partial to punkin preserves. I wish you'd lend me a jar for her. Nobody likes it here so we buried it darkly at dead of night in the garden. Ever since Rebecca Dew discovered that I do an occasional bit of fiction for the magazines she has lived in the fear. She wants me to 'write up the Pringles and blister them.

Rebecca Dew has done the standard roses up in straw and potato bags, and in the twilight they look exactly like a group of humped-back old men leaning on staffs. I'm beginning to have my suspicions about that friend of hers.

But your big fat letter was the purple gift the day gave me. I read it four times over to get every bit of its savor. That certainly isn't a romantic simile, but it's the one that just popped into my head. Still, letters, even the nicest, aren't satisfactory. I want to see you. I'm glad it's only five weeks to Christmas holidays. Anne, sitting at her tower window one late November evening, with her pen at her lip and dreams in her eyes, looked out on a twilight world and suddenly thought she would like a walk to the old graveyard.

She had never visited it yet, preferring the birch and maple grove or the harbor road for her evening rambles.

But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the woods. So Anne betook herself to the graveyard instead. She was feeling for the time so dispirited and hopeless that she thought a graveyard would be a comparatively cheerful place. Besides, it was full of Pringles, so Rebecca Dew said.

They had buried there for generations, keeping it up in preference to the new graveyard until "no more of them could be squeezed in. In regard to the Pringles Anne felt that she was at the end of her tether. More and more the whole situation was coming to seem like a nightmare. The subtle campaign of insubordination and disrespect which Jen Pringle had organized had at last come to a head.

One day, a week previously, she had asked the Seniors to write a composition on "The Most Important Happenings of the Week. Anne had sent her home, telling her that she would have to apologize before she would be allowed to come back.

The fat was fairly in the fire. It was open warfare now between her and the Pringles. And poor Anne had no doubt on whose banner victory would perch. The school board would back the Pringles up and she would be given her choice between letting Jen come back or being asked to resign. She felt very bitter. She had done her best and she knew she could have succeeded if she had had even a fighting chance.

But to go home to Green Gables defeated! To endure Mrs. Lynde's indignation and the Pyes' exultation! Even the sympathy of friends would be an anguish. And with her Summerside failure bruited abroad she would never be able to get another school.

But at least they had not got the better of her in the matter of the play. Anne laughed a little wickedly and her eyes filled with mischievous delight over the memory. She had organized a High School Dramatic Club and directed it in a little play hurriedly gotten up to provide some funds for one of her pet schemes. She had made herself ask Katherine Brooke to help her because Katherine always seemed so left out of everything.

She could not help regretting it many times, for Katherine was even more brusk and sarcastic than usual. She seldom let a practice pass without some corrosive remark and she overworked her eyebrows. Anne was not so sure of this. She rather thought that Sophy Sinclair, who was tall and had hazel eyes and rich chestnut hair, would make a far better Queen Mary than Jen. But Sophy was not even a member of the club and had never taken part in a play. I'm not going to be associated with anything that is not successful," Katherine had said disagreeably, and Anne had yielded.

She could not deny that Jen was very good in the part. She had a natural flair for acting and she apparently threw herself into it wholeheartedly. They practiced four evenings a week and on the surface things went along very smoothly. Jen seemed to be so interested in her part that she behaved herself as far as the play was concerned.

Anne did not meddle with her but left her to Katherine's coaching. Once or twice, though, she surprised a certain look of sly triumph on Jen's face that puzzled her. She could not guess just what it meant. One afternoon, soon after the practices had begun, Anne found Sophy Sinclair in tears in a corner of the girls' coatroom. At first she had blinked her hazel eyes vigorously and denied it. And of course I haven't had any experience.

I've always loved Queen Mary. I don't believe. I never will believe she had anything to do with murdering Darnley. It would have been wonderful to fancy I was she for a little while! It will be good training for you. And, as we plan to give the play in other places if it goes well here, it will be just as well to have an understudy in case Jen shouldn't always be able to go.

But we'll say nothing about it to any one. Sophy had the part memorized by the next day. She went home to Windy Poplars with Anne every afternoon when school came out and rehearsed it in the tower. They had a lot of fun together, for Sophy was full of quiet vivacity. The play was to be put on the last Friday in November in the town hall; it was widely advertised and the reserved seats were sold to the last one. Anne and Katherine spent two evenings decorating the hall, the band was hired, and a noted soprano was coming up from Charlottetown to sing between the acts.

The dress rehearsal was a success. Jen was really excellent and the whole cast played up to her. Friday morning Jen was not in school; and in the afternoon her mother sent word that Jen was ill with a very sore throat.

Everybody concerned was very sorry, but it was out of the question that she should take part in the play that night. Once we're into December there's so much going on. Well, I always thought it was foolish to try to get up a play this time of the year. She was not going to say it to Katherine Brooke, but she knew as well as she had ever known anything in her life that Jen Pringle was in no more danger of tonsillitis than she was.

It was a deliberate device, whether any of the other Pringles were a party to it or not, to ruin the play because she, Anne Shirley, had sponsored it. Get some one to read the part? That would ruin it. Mary is the whole play. The costume will fit her and, thanks be, you made it and have it, not Jen. The play was put on that night before a packed audience. A delighted Sophy played Mary. Students of Summerside High, who had never seen Sophy in anything but her plain, dowdy, dark serge dresses, shapeless coat and shabby hats, stared at her in amazement.

It was insisted on the spot that she become a permanent member of the Dramatic Club--Anne herself paid the membership fee--and from then on she was one of the pupils who "counted" in Summerside High. But nobody knew or dreamed, Sophy herself least of all, that she had taken the first step that night on a pathway that was to lead to the stars.

Twenty years later Sophy Sinclair was to be one of the leading actresses in America. But probably no plaudits ever sounded so sweet in her ears as the wild applause amid which the curtain fell that night in Summerside town hall. James Pringle took a tale home to her daughter Jen which would have turned that damsel's eyes green if they had not been already so. For once, as Rebecca Dew said feelingly, Jen had got her come-uppance.

And the eventual result was the insult in the composition on Important Happenings. Anne went down to the old graveyard along a deep-rutted lane between high, mossy stone dykes, tasseled with frosted ferns.

Slim, pointed lombardies, from which November winds had not yet stripped all the leaves, grew along it at intervals, coming out darkly against the amethyst of the far hills; but the old graveyard, with half its tombstones leaning at a drunken slant, was surrounded by a four-square row of tall, somber fir trees.

Anne had not expected to find any one there and was a little taken aback when she met Miss Valentine Courtaloe, with her long delicate nose, her thin delicate mouth, her sloping delicate shoulders and her general air of invincible lady-likeness, just inside the gate. She knew Miss Valentine, of course, as did everyone in Summerside.

She was "the" local dressmaker and what she didn't know about people, living or dead, was not worth taking into account.

Anne had wanted to wander about by herself, read the odd old epitaphs and puzzle out the names of forgotten lovers under the lichens that were growing over them. But she could not escape when Miss Valentine slipped an arm through hers and proceeded to do the honors of the graveyard, where there were evidently as many Courtaloes buried as Pringles. Miss Valentine had not a drop of Pringle blood in her and one of Anne's favorite pupils was her nephew.

So it was no great mental strain to be nice to her, except that one must be very careful never to hint that she "sewed for a living. I always say you have to know the ins and outs of the corpses to find a graveyard real enjoyable. I like a walk here better than in the new. It's only the old families that are buried here but every Tom, Dick and Harry is being buried in the new. The Courtaloes are buried in this corner.

My, we've had a terrible lot of funerals in our family. Most of us died of a cough. This is my Aunt Bessie's grave. The first edition of the novel was published in , and was written by L. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages and is available in Hardcover format. The main characters of this young adult, historical story are Diana Barry, Gilbert Blythe.

The book has been awarded with , and many others. Montgomery pdf. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you.