One evening—it was the close of a cold, raw day in the latter part of November—the stage deposited a woman, and a lad perhaps twelve years old, at the village tavern in Sudbury. She was intending to ride all night; indeed, she had paid her 'fare' through to New-Haven, but, seized with sudden illness, she was compelled to stop. Her malady proved to be typhus fever. The doctor was summoned, who subjected his patient to the terrific treatment then in vogue for that disorder, and in due course she died. It turned out on inquiry, that the woman, whose name was Burns, was on her way to a married sister's in Pennsylvania; further, that she was a widow, the lad her only child, and the sister in Pennsylvania the only near relation she had in the world. This sister was by no means in affluent circumstances, but she could offer a home to 'Sarah,' which the latter was glad to accept. After disposing of the trifling articles unsuitable to carry with her, she had barely money enough to defray the expenses of herself and 'Joel' to their new abode. The poor woman's journey was interrupted, as we have explained, at Sudbury, and a new direction given to it. She departed for 'the undiscovered country,' leaving little Joel to cry himself asleep; for the time quite heart-broken, and desolate enough.
There was not time to write to the married sister; so the selectmen, after ascertaining what money still remained in the purse of the deceased, undertook the burial. They ordered a cheap pine coffin, scantily 'stained.' It cost but a quarter of a dollar to dig the grave, and old Sally agreed to 'lay the woman out' for the comfortable dress she wore on arriving at the inn. Of the three selectmen of Sudbury, two were from the east part of the town—thrifty, hard-working farmers; the third was a Mr. Bellows, a popular store-keeper of the village. The latter had not interfered with the action of his colleagues, because he himself was very busy, and they, having very little to do at that season, were pleased with the excitement the affair afforded them. But passing the inn the morning Mrs. Burns was to be buried, Mr. Bellows stepped in a moment at the request of the landlord, who was a kind-hearted fellow, and did not feel quite satisfied with the arrangements. Ascending to the chamber, he saw a sad but handsome-looking boy standing over a rudely constructed coffin, a picture of sorrow and despair. The little fellow had witnessed the action of the coarse-hearted men who took the direction of the funeral. He heard their private discussion as to the 'cost of burying the woman.' He was a witness to their haggling with Aunt Sally about laying her out. He could hear various propositions as to what was to be done with him. He saw his mother hurriedly draped for the coffin and placed inside of it. He did not sob nor cry; a dreadful reality had so overcome him, that he lost the power of doing either. Once or twice, when every body had left the room, he had stolen softly up and kissed the face of the corpse, and some tears would then roll down his cheeks. It was at such a time that Mr. Bellows entered, and his heart smote him that he had not sooner looked in. He spoke kindly to Joel, which seemed to loose the flood-gates of his grief, and for a time he continued to cry in the most piteous manner. Mr. Bellows soon decided what to do. His own family was small; he had a wife and one child—a little girl nine years old. He took Joel in his lap, told him not to cry—that he should go home with him, and be his boy. The tone in which this was uttered had more effect to soothe the lad than what was said to him. After a few minutes, Joel was persuaded to leave the room and to accompany his new friend to the house. Mr. Bellows then called on his minister, and requested him to perform the funeral rites at the grave; for so little interest had been shown in the fate of the strange woman, that her illness had not even been communicated to the clergyman, and the selectmen did not think it 'worth while to have any funeral'! Mr. Bellows hurried hack to the inn. The coffin was placed in a wagon. It was followed by the clergyman and Mr. Bellows, the two other selectmen, the landlord of the inn, and his wife. The burying-ground was soon reached, a short prayer made, and the company dispersed, leaving the man to fill up the grave according to contract. Mr. Bellows and his two associates returned to the tavern together, in order, as the latter expressed it, to settle up the business. Going into the sitting-room, and taking seats around a small table, one of them opened the subject in a serious and important tone, indicative of the weight of responsibility he felt was resting on his shoulders, by asking what was to be done with the boy.
'What do you think best to do with him?' said Mr. Bellows.
'Well, I suppose there is room in the town-house. There is nobody there now but Aunt Lois and foolish Tom, and we can probably bind him out next spring.'
'I don't think we have a right to charge the town with the expense,' said selectman number two. 'We know where the boy came from; the best way is to send him back to Granby.'
'He has got an aunt,' said the other; 'hadn't we better write to her?'
'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Bellows, 'I will cut this matter short. I will take the lad myself. You shall bind him out to me in the regular way. I do not think you need fear any interference from the town of Granby. As to his aunt, I propose first to write and get her consent. If she prefers to take the boy, why, she will send for him.'
This question disposed of, the spokesman next proposed to go into the accounts; which meant his own and his neighbor's charge for time and personal expenses twice from East-Sudbury with horse and wagon. They thought six dollars about right.
'How do you propose to be paid?' quoth Mr. Bellows.
'Twenty dollars and seventy-two cents was in their possession, taken from the pocket of the woman after she died.'