Narrate astory that end with the saying heid i know i will have listeng to my mother not less than two pages
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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 Summer side), 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 everyone 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