IV - Anne of Windy Poplars, Ania z Zielonego Wzgórza po angielsku, ebook, pdf

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Title: Anne of Windy Poplars

Author: L. M. Montgomery (1874-1942)

* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *

eBook No.: 0100251.txt

Language: English

Date first posted: November 2001

Date most recently updated: November 2001

This eBook was produced by: Don Lainson dlainson@sympatico.ca

Production notes:

References to omitted pages are part of the text.

Italics used for emphasis have been converted to uppercase lettering,

except for the word I which is shown as _I_.

Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions

which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice

is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular

paper edition.

file.

This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions

whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms

of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at

http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html

To contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Title: Anne of Windy Poplars

Author: L. M. Montgomery (1874-1942)

Please note: References to omitted pages are part of the text.

Italics used for emphasis have been converted to uppercase lettering,

except for the word I which is shown as _I_.

THE FIRST YEAR

(Letter from Anne Shirley, B.A., Principal of Summerside High

School, to Gilbert Blythe, medical student at Redmond College,

Kingsport.)

"Windy Poplars,

"Spook's Lane,

"S'side, P. E. I.,

"Monday, September 12th.

"DEAREST:

"Isn't that an address! Did you ever hear anything so delicious?

Windy Poplars is the name of my new home and I love it. I also

love Spook's Lane, which has no legal existence. It should be

Trent Street but it is never called Trent Street except on the rare

occasions when it is mentioned in the Weekly Courier . . . and then

people look at each other and say, 'Where on earth is that?'

Spook's Lane it is . . . although for what reason I cannot tell

you. I have already asked Rebecca Dew about it, but all she can

say is that it has always been Spook's Lane and there was some old

yarn years ago of its being haunted. But SHE has never seen

anything worse-looking than herself in it.

"However, I mustn't get ahead of my story. You don't know Rebecca

Dew yet. But you will, oh, yes, you will. I foresee that Rebecca

Dew will figure largely in my future correspondence.

"It's dusk, dearest. (In passing, isn't 'dusk' a lovely word?

I like it better than twilight. It sounds so velvety and shadowy

and . . . and . . . DUSKY.) In daylight I belong to the world . . .

in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I'm free from

both and belong only to myself . . . and YOU. So I'm going to keep

this hour sacred to writing to you. Though THIS won't be a love-

letter. I have a scratchy pen and I can't write love-letters with a

scratchy pen . . . or a sharp pen . . . or a stub pen. So you'll

only get THAT kind of letter from me when I have exactly the right

kind of pen. Meanwhile, I'll tell you about my new domicile and its

inhabitants. Gilbert, they're such DEARS.

"I came up yesterday to look for a boarding-house. Mrs. Rachel

Lynde came with me, ostensibly to do some shopping but really, I

know, to choose a boarding-house for me. In spite of my Arts

course and my B.A., Mrs. Lynde still thinks I am an inexperienced

young thing who must be guided and directed and overseen.

"We came by train and oh, Gilbert, I had the funniest adventure.

You know I've always been one to whom adventures came unsought.

I just seem to attract them, as it were.

"It happened just as the train was coming to a stop at the station.

I got up and, stooping to pick up Mrs. Lynde's suitcase (she was

planning to spend Sunday with a friend in Summerside), I leaned my

knuckles heavily on what I thought was the shiny arm of a seat. In

a second I received a violent crack across them that nearly made me

howl. Gilbert, what I had taken for the arm of a seat was a man's

bald head. He was glaring fiercely at me and had evidently just

waked up. I apologized abjectly and got off the train as quickly

as possible. The last I saw of him he was still glaring. Mrs.

Lynde was horrified and my knuckles are sore yet!

"I did not expect to have much trouble in finding a boarding-house,

for a certain Mrs. Tom Pringle has been boarding the various

principals of the High School for the last fifteen years. But, for

some unknown reason, she has grown suddenly tired of 'being

bothered' and wouldn't take me. Several other desirable places had

some polite excuse. Several other places WEREN'T desirable. We

wandered about the town the whole afternoon and got hot and tired

and blue and headachy . . . at least _I_ did. I was ready to give

up in despair . . . and then, Spook's Lane just happened!

"We had dropped in to see Mrs. Braddock, an old crony of Mrs.

Lynde's. And Mrs. Braddock said she thought 'the widows' might

take me in.

"'I've heard they want a boarder to pay Rebecca Dew's wages. They

can't afford to keep Rebecca any longer unless a little extra money

comes in. And if Rebecca goes, WHO is to milk that old red cow?'

"Mrs. Braddock fixed me with a stern eye as if she thought _I_

ought to milk the red cow but wouldn't believe me on oath if I

claimed I could.

"'What widows are you talking about?' demanded Mrs. Lynde.

"'Why, Aunt Kate and Aunt Chatty,' said Mrs. Braddock, as if

everybody, even an ignorant B.A., ought to know that. 'Aunt Kate

is Mrs. Amasa MacComber (she's the Captain's widow) and Aunt Chatty

is Mrs. Lincoln MacLean, just a plain widow. But every one calls

them "aunt." They live at the end of Spook's Lane.'

"Spook's Lane! That settled it. I knew I just had to board with

the widows.

"'Let's go and see them at once,' I implored Mrs. Lynde. It seemed

to me if we lost a moment Spook's Lane would vanish back into

fairyland.

"'You can see them, but it'll be Rebecca who'll really decide

whether they'll take you or not. Rebecca Dew rules the roost at

Windy Poplars, I can tell you."

"Windy Poplars! It couldn't be true . . . no it couldn't. I must

be dreaming. And Mrs. Rachel Lynde was actually saying it was a

funny name for a place.

"'Oh, Captain MacComber called it that. It was his house, you

know. He planted all the poplars round it and was mighty proud of

it, though he was seldom home and never stayed long. Aunt Kate

used to say that was inconvenient, but we never got it figured out

whether she meant his staying such a little time or his coming back

at all. Well, Miss Shirley, I hope you'll get there. Rebecca

Dew's a good cook and a genius with cold potatoes. If she takes a

notion to you you'll be in clover. If she doesn't . . . well, she

won't, that's all. I hear there's a new banker in town looking for

a boarding-house and she may prefer him. It's kind of funny Mrs.

Tom Pringle wouldn't take you. Summerside is full of Pringles and

half Pringles. They're called "The Royal Family" and you'll have

to get on their good side, Miss Shirley, or you'll never get along

in Summerside High. They've always ruled the roost hereabouts . . .

there's a street called after old Captain Abraham Pringle. There's

a regular clan of them, but the two old ladies at Maplehurst boss

the tribe. I did hear they were down on you.'

"'Why should they be?' I exclaimed. 'I'm a total stranger to

them.'

"'Well, a third cousin of theirs applied for the Principalship and

they all think he should have got it. When your application was

accepted the whole kit and boodle of them threw back their heads

and howled. Well, people are like that. We have to take them as

we find them, you know. They'll be as smooth as cream to you but

they'll work against you every time. I'm not wanting to discourage

you but forewarned is forearmed. I hope you'll make good just to

spite them. 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 . . . she knows her place THEN . . . but if

you were boarding there she wouldn't consider you company, of

course.'

"I assured the anxious Mrs. Braddock that I'd love eating with

Rebecca Dew and dragged Mrs. Lynde away. I MUST get ahead of the

banker.

"Mrs. Braddock followed us to the door.

"'And don't hurt Aunt Chatty's feelings, will you? Her feelings

are so easily hurt. She's so sensitive, poor thing. You see, she

hasn't QUITE as much money as Aunt Kate . . . though Aunt Kate

hasn't any too much either. And then Aunt Kate liked her husband

real well . . . her own husband, I mean . . . but Aunt Chatty

didn't . . . didn't like hers, I mean. Small wonder! Lincoln

MacLean was an old crank . . . but she thinks people hold it

against her. 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 . . . although HER husband was a

carpenter. She was very pretty in her day, poor thing.'

"I assured Mrs. Braddock that Aunt Chatty's feelings would be

sacred to me, but she followed us down the walk.

"'Kate and Chatty won't explore your belongings when you're out.

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.'

"I promised I wouldn't praise the cat and we actually got away.

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 . . .

nothing more to be said of it. 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. 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.

"I fell in love with it at once. 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 . . . very white . . . with green

shutters . . . very green . . . with a 'tower' in the corner and a

dormer-window on either side, a low stone wall dividing it from the

street, with aspen poplars growing at intervals along it, and a big

garden at the back where flowers and vegetables are delightfully

jumbled up together . . . but all this can't convey its charm to

you. In short, it is a house with a delightful personality and has

something of the flavor of Green Gables about it.

"'This is the spot for me . . . it's been foreordained,' I said

rapturously.

"Mrs. Lynde looked as if she didn't quite trust foreordination.

"'It'll be a long walk to school,' she said dubiously.

"'I don't mind that. It will be good exercise. Oh, look at that

lovely birch and maple grove across the road.'

"Mrs. Lynde looked but all she said was,

"'I hope you won't be pestered with mosquitoes.'

"I hoped so, too. I detest mosquitoes. One mosquito can keep me

'awaker' than a bad conscience.

"I was glad we didn't have to go in by the front door. It looked

so forbidding . . . a big, double-leaved, grained-wood affair,

flanked by panels of red, flowered glass. 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.' Of course they weren't all in bloom at this

season, but you could see they had bloomed at the proper time and

done it well. 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.

"Just as we entered the gate of the garden of Windy Poplars I

noticed a little clump of clover right by the path. 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.

"The side door was open so it was evident somebody was at home and

we didn't have to look under the flower-pot. 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.

"Rebecca Dew is 'around forty' and if a tomato had black hair

racing away from its forehead, little twinkling black eyes, a tiny

nose with a knobby end and a slit of a mouth, it would look exactly

like her. Everything about her is a little too short . . . arms

and legs and neck and nose . . . everything but her smile. It is

long enough to reach from ear to ear.

"But we didn't see her smile just then. She looked very grim when

I asked if I could see Mrs. MacComber.

"'You mean Mrs. CAPTAIN MacComber?' she said rebukingly, as if

there were at least a dozen Mrs. MacCombers in the house.

"'Yes,' I said meekly. 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 . . . but she thought it gave the room 'a nautical air.'

"'The widows' came in. I liked them at once. Aunt Kate was tall

and thin and gray, and a little austere . . . Marilla's type

exactly: and Aunt Chatty was short and thin and gray, and a little

wistful. She may have been very pretty once but nothing is now

left of her beauty except her eyes. They are lovely . . . soft and

big and brown.

"I explained my errand and the widows looked at each other.

"'We must consult Rebecca Dew,' said Aunt Chatty.

"'Undoubtedly,' said Aunt Kate.

"Rebecca Dew was accordingly summoned from the kitchen. The cat

came in with her . . . a big fluffy Maltese, with a white breast

and a white collar. I should have liked to stroke him, but,

remembering Mrs. Braddock's warning, I ignored him.

"Rebecca gazed at me without the glimmer of a smile.

"'Rebecca,' said Aunt Kate, who, I have discovered, does not waste

words, 'Miss Shirley wishes to board here. I don't think we can

take her.'

"'Why not?' said Rebecca Dew.

"'It would be too much trouble for you, I am afraid,' said Aunt

Chatty.

"'I'm well used to trouble,' said Rebecca Dew. You CAN'T separate

those names, Gilbert. It's impossible . . . though the widows do

it. They call her Rebecca when they speak to her. I don't know

how they manage it.

...

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Wątki