d.

"Guess we're all his friends in Flamsted--I heered they fit in the shed,
Champ an' Jim McCann--it hadn't ought 'a'-ben, Aileen--hadn't ought
'a'-ben; but't warn't Champ's fault, you may bet your life on thet.
Champ went under, but he didn't stay under--you remember thet, Aileen.
An' I can't nowise blame him, now he's got his head above water agin,
for not stan'in' it to have a man like McCann heave a stone at him jest
ez he's makin' for shore. 'T ain't right, an' the old Judge use ter say,
'What ain't right hadn't ought ter be.'"

He waited a while to regain his scant breath; the long speech had
exhausted it. At last he chuckled weakly to himself, "Champ's a devil
of a feller--" he caught up his words as if he were saying too much;
laid his hand on Aileen's head; turned her face half round to his and,
leaning, whispered again in her ear:

"Don't you go back on Champ, promise me thet, Aileen."

She sprang to her feet and laid her hand in his.

"I promise, Uncle Jo."

"Thet's a good girl." He laid his other hand over hers. "You stick by
Champ an' stick up for him too; he's good blood, an' ef he did go under
for a spell, he ain't no worse 'n the rest, nor half ez bad; for Champ
went in _of his own accord--of his own accord_," he repeated
significantly, "an' don't you forget thet, Aileen! Thet takes grit;
mebbe you wouldn't think so, but it does. Champ makes me think of them
divers, I've read an' heerd about, thet dives for pearls. Some on 'em
comes up all right, but some of 'em go under for good an' all. Champ
dove mighty deep--he was diving for money, which he figured was his
pearl, Aileen--an' he most went under for good an' all without gettin'
what he wanted, an' now he's come to the surface agin, it's all ben wuth
it--he's got the pearl, Aileen, but t'ain't the one he expected to
get--he told me so t' other night. We set here him an' me, an'
understan' one 'nother even when we don't talk--jest set an' smoke an'
puff--"

"What pearl is it, Uncle Jo?" She whispered her question, half fearing,
but wholly longing to hear the old man's answer.

"Guess he'll tell you himself sometime, Aileen."

He leaned back in his chair; he was tired. Aileen stooped and kissed him
on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Uncle Jo," she said softly, "an' don't forget Hannah's
broth or there'll be trouble at Champo."

He roused himself again.

"I heered from Tave to-day thet Mis' Champney is pretty low."

"Yes, she feels this heat