Litchfield enquirer., 1874-07-02
F.om Scribnea , Monthly. THE FIRE AT CRANTLEY HILLS.

and 1t was donbiy a mystery because the people at Grantiey, who were mostly rOagh. blsy mesI and waiaea, generally knew ca':!i s:thers business pretty thor Onghiy. ;.U: tliiS wnman, - Phiills Den ham her nanl",-lnilsd them utterly, and remaine,! il mystery Ili spite of thZ efforts of the most curious She had appeared among them at the Milla ono Spring morn ing (ir;lntl2y wi:s q village O; iliii-hands), ), and those who live! on one of the most respectable of the narrow streets had seen her come ont of small house which had the day before been unoccupied. And this was all they knew. beyond the latter discovery that the cottage was scantiiy furnished, and yet had an air of neatness not usually seen in Grantley houses. and that Phillis Denham lived alone, and was either Quaker or a 'Methody.'
 600 isna nur loike, at onyrate," said one of the wise ones. "'Oo minces hel words loike one O tn quality. of 'oo does thee and thou"
 She was a young woman, too, and, in a strange, cold, saintly way. beauty. She had the face of the Madonna, without it's soft warmth and tenderness. Her fine eyes were little hard for the eyes of woman; her fine mouth had a severe curve; her manner was grave and reserved.
 GA woman of stone, my dear" said the good old rector to his wife, after his first parochial call upon the new arrival. ''A woman with an injury, I should say, or q woman not easy to understand"
 '1t was kind of thee to come" Phiilis had said to him; ''but l am not one of thy people. I belong to the Society of Friends" And even at the end of his vis- 1t he had learned not a whit more of her history.
 She lived 8 quiet life, and was a very regular worker. She left her cottage at a certain hour ill the early morning, and re- entered it as regularly each evening, never far devlating from her accustomed time. She gained no friends, and made no ene- mics. Her home was as neat and trim as herself, and she was the perfection of sim pie. almost severe, neatness.
 "HOw are we to ca the, lass?" asked one of the bo2dest of her fellow workers ''Art tha wed or single?'
 ''Thee may call me Phillis Denham, she said, fickering color touching her fine, white skin; ''that is my name"
 So they felt 1t wiser to ask no moro questions, and she was called Phillis Den- ham and left to herself. She had been living this sort of life for three months when there came to the mills new hand, -a handsomer woman year or two older than herself, "a woman of class widely set apart from her,-a woman whose early fading beauty was a shame, and who re- belled against the world and tried to faunt boldly, despite the haggard misery slowly creeping upon her. They knew her at the Mills. The overseer himself knew her, and greeted her with rough fa- miliarity when she appeared at the offices and demanded work almost as if she had the right to expect it.
 "What!'' says he. "Back again! Going to try work fora while, are you? We'll, suppose we shall have to give you place. There, go along and behave yourself |" And then he turned to the owners eldest san who stood by, and spoke to him half apologeticaIly. sskAe,s-a-.s..e,lA-an -anonob customer" he said, ''but she can do work that few of them arc up to, and if she was steady I've should be glad enough to keep her at good wages. She has worked here. off and on, ever since she was a girl; and handsome girl she was, too,-too handsome for her own good, as 1t turned out"
 The woman was not ill Phillis Denham' s room, and ill the crowd that passed out of the iron gates, at the ringing of the great bell at meal times, 1t chanced that for several days each was hidden from the other. But at the end of the week, i'll going alone down the stairs one evening, Philiis found herself face to face with the newcomer. The woman started back, with something like an oath upon her lips, a flush, half anger, half shame, reckoning her cheeks. Phillis whitened perceptibly, and drew back also, straightening her fine slight form, and holding aside the folds of her dress with an unconscious gesture which spoke worlds.
 "IHee-Janet Ayres?" she said.
 The woman laughed-a laugh whose an- gry, scornful sound had yet an undertone of miserable humiliation.
 "Aye,' she answered, tits me, Janet Ayres! Has tha owt to'saY agen it? If tha has, say it, an be done wi Although I dunnot see how tha can help thysen agen my bein' here.''
 "Nor l." said Phillis. and she looked down at the creature with a sudden, sharp indrawing of her breath, wild light leap ing into her cold eyes for one instant, then dying out. "Wilt thou let me pass?" she said, i'll curious, low voice. 'I do not wish to harm thee,"
 Janet Ayres drew back quickly. and al- most unconsciously glanced over her shoulder at the great depth of steps be- low them. Harm her! For that instant the pure, self-righteous woman had actually looked as if her last words might have held desperate double meaning. And it would have been easy enough to harm her, with that flight of stairs below. A touch would have done 1t almost And less deeply wronged women had revenged themselves in such ways before. But the light had died out of Phillis Denhams s eyes, and she passed down the staircase without another word.
 She was even unusually pale and silent the next day. The woman who worked near her noticed, indeed one of them re- membered afterward. that she only spoke once during all the hours of labor, and this once was on hearing the name of Ja- net Ayres from the lips of the woman at the loom next to her own.
 "Th' mesters ha' no rect to talk such loike nowts," said the speaker, roughly. elf it were na for tn choild. poor little wench-"
 Phillis looked mp with a slight start.
 Friend" said she, ''do understand thee to say the woman has child?'''
 "Aye," was the answer, Gas pratty a little lass as any honester woman might wish fur-th' Lord help it? Three year owd, or theerabout. Tn parish owt to talk it to save it fro goin' it's mothers gate"
 But though the matter dropped for the time being. this was not the end of 1t. On her way home that evening Phillis met with little adventure. One of the lux uries she allowed herself was weekly boquet of common flowers, and she was passing down a narrow street, with a handful of roses and sweet peas, just pur- chased. when asmall hand, thrust through fence, plucked at her gown, and the sound of child voice stopped her. ''Ooman," said the sweet, shrill little pipe; "ooman, gl' us a posy"
 She stopped and looked down. She did not often notice children, but the voice ot 1 this one, and the soft touch of the small bold. detaining hand gave her queer new feeling. Children dld not often no tice her, either; she was not the sort oi woman to attract a child. The tiny hand