"Go upstairs and I will follow," said Andy.
They went up two flights, and the boy opened a door at the top of the landing.
There was a woman not far from forty in the room. On her face was a look of settled sorrow. At her knee was a small boy five years of age. She looked at Andy inquiringly.
"Mother," said Ben, "here is the bread. I couldn't have bought it, for the quarter was bad, if this boy had not given me another quarter."
"This young gentleman," corrected the mother.
"No, Mrs. Carter; I am a boy, and I prefer to be called so. I came up with Ben, for I find that he is related to Squire Carter, of Arden, whom I know very well."
"You know Philemon Carter?"
"Yes; he lives in Arden. That is my birthplace."
Mrs. Carter's countenance fell.
"Philemon Carter was my husband's brother," she said; "but there is little friendship between us."