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That’s the way the thing run f’r years ‘nd years. Leander would ‘ve gin up the plaguy bargain, but he couldn’t; he had signed a printed paper ‘nd had swore to it afore a justice of the peace. Higgins would have had the law on him if he had throwed up the trade.

The most aggervatin’ feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv them cussid cyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong time,–when Leander wuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burnt down two nights afore the volyume containin’ the letter B arrived, and Leander needed all his chink to pay f’r lumber, but Higgins sot back on that affidavit and defied the life out uv him.

“Never mind, Leander,” sez his wife, soothin’ like, “it’s a good book to have in the house, anyhow, now that we’ve got a baby.”

“That’s so,” sez Leander, “babies does begin with B, don’t it?”

You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley,–Peasley Hobart,–after Hattie’s folks. So, seein’ as how it wuz payin’ f’r a book that told about babies, Leander didn’t begredge that five dollars so very much after all.

“Leander,” sez Hattie one forenoon, “that B cyclopeedy ain’t no account. There ain’t nothin’ in it about babies except ‘See Maternity’!”

“Waal, I’ll be gosh durned!” sez Leander. That wuz all he said, and he couldn’t do nothin’ at all, f’r that book-agent, Lemuel Higgins, had the dead wood on him,–the mean, sneakin’ critter!

So the years passed on, one of them cyclopeedies showin’ up now ‘nd then,–sometimes every two years ‘nd sometimes every four, but allus at a time when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn’t no use cussin’ Higgins; Higgins just laffed when Leander allowed that the cyclopeedy was no good ‘nd that he wuz bein’ robbed. Meantime Leander’s family wuz increasin’ and growin’. Little Sarey had the hoopin’ cough dreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn’t help out at all, ’cause all it said wuz: “Hoopin’ Cough–See Whoopin’ Cough”–and uv course there warn’t no Whoopin’ Cough to see, bein’ as how the W hadn’t come yet!

Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to the cyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz:

“Drain–See Tile.” This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got down to G.

The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin’ to that cussid cyclopeedy, ’cause when he went to readin’ ’bout cows it told him to “See Zoology.”

But what’s the use uv harrowin’ up one’s feelin’s talkin’ ‘nd thinkin’ about these things? Leander got so after a while that the cyclopeedy didn’t worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez one uv the crosses that human critters has to bear without complainin’ through this vale uv tears. The only thing that bothered him wuz the fear that mebbe he wouldn’t live to see the last volyume,–to tell the truth, this kind uv got to be his hobby, and I’ve heern him talk ’bout it many a time settin’ round the stove at the tarvern ‘nd squirtin’ tobacco juice at the sawdust box. His wife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders the winter W come, and all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin’ her wuz the prospect uv seein’ the last volyume of that cyclopeedy. Lemuel Higgins, the book-agent, had gone to his everlastin’ punishment; but his son, Hiram, had succeeded to his father’s business ‘nd continued to visit the folks his old man had roped in. By this time Leander’s children had growed up; all on ’em wuz marr’d, and there wuz numeris grandchildren to amuse the ol’ gentleman. But Leander wuzn’t to be satisfied with the common things uv airth; he didn’t seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren like most men do; his mind wuz allers sot on somethin’ else,–for hours ‘nd hours, yes, all day long, he’d set out on the front stoop lookin’ wistfully up the road for that book-agent to come along with a cyclopeedy. He didn’t want to die till he’d got all the cyclopeedies his contract called for; he wanted to have everything straightened out before he passed away. When–oh, how well I recollect it–when Y come along he wuz so overcome that he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, ‘nd the old gentleman never got over it. For the next three years he drooped ‘nd pined, and seemed like he couldn’t hold out much longer. Finally he had to take to his bed,–he was so old ‘nd feeble,–but he made ’em move the bed up ag’inst the winder so he could watch for that last volyume of the cyclopeedy.