"I went to the baker's to buy some bread for mother, and the baker tells me that the quarter is a bad one." "Let me look at it." The coin had a dull appearance and a greasy feeling. It was unquestionably counterfeit. "Yes, it is bad," said Andy. "Is your mother poor?" "Very poor," answered the boy. "This quarter was all the money she had, and now we shall have no supper." "Whom do you mean by 'we'?" "My little brother and myself." Andy intended at first simply to give the boy a good coin for the bad one, but he saw that there was a call for something more. "Do you live near here?" he asked. "Yes, sir; just across the street." "I will go back with you to the baker's, and then I will go with you to see your mother. Perhaps I can help her." The boy put his hand confidingly in Andy's, and the two went a little distance to the baker's. "Now make your purchases," said Andy. "If you have brought back that bad quarter I won't take it," announced the baker, sharply. "I will pay you," said Andy, quietly. "Then it's all right. The boy brought me a very bad quarter. I have to look sharp, for a good many bad coins are offered me." Andy produced a genuine silver piece, and the bread was handed to the boy, with the change. The boy looked at it hesitatingly. "It is yours," he said to Andy. "No, I have changed quarters with you. I will keep the bad one." Again he looked at the boy, and again the resemblance to some familiar face puzzled him. "What is your name?" he asked. "Ben Carter." Carter! That explained it. The boy looked like Conrad Carter, though he had a pleasanter expression. "Have you an Uncle Philemon?" he inquired. "How did you know?" asked the boy, in surprise. "Because you look like Conrad Carter." "He is my cousin." "And you are poor?" "Yes." "Your uncle is considered rich." "I know he is, but he won't do anything for mother." Andy was now all the more desirous of seeing the boy's family. "I know your uncle," he said. "Do you think he knows you are so poor?" "Yes, for mother has written to him." By this time they had reached the place which Ben called home. "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."