Hilda Hensley had a thing for dictionaries and over the years she had bought all types. One of her most favorite things to do when she traveled was to seek out bookstores that specialized in rare and unusual books. She loved to browse among the shelves and handle books published in an earlier century. The mustly smells and the feel of old leather appealed to her greatly.

Now, this morning, she entered a small bookshop on Canal Street, a shop and a town she hadn't previously visited. "I'm looking for old dictionaries," she said to the bespectacled and white-bearded man who sat behind an antique desk quietly pondering his New York Times crossword puzzle. "Do you have any?"

"I certainly do," he said, angling his head and peering over his spectacles. "They're in the back. Back that way," he said, waving her off. "All the way to the rear, on your left."

Shelves from floor to ceiling separated four narrow aisles, and as she moved over the uneven floor, she was aware of the musty aroma. She scanned several shelves, but although she saw several interesting titles, she didn't see anything that resembled a dictionary.

She came to the end of the second aisle, finally, and moved on to the third, scanning more titles and looking for something, any book at this point, that might strike her fancy. And then she spied it! Was she seeing things? An AINSWORTH DICTIONARY? A AINSWORTH DICTIONARY by Robert Ainsworth? Copyright 1785? She could hardly believe her stroke of good luck.

She removed the book from the shelf and turned to the fly leaf. She also checked the back pages and the four unique words of an Ainsworth, a real Ainsworth. She checked each word then examined the spine, for an Ainsworth, she knew, had a special spine, the reason being so the pages would not come loose from usage, for an Ainsworth had been an expensive and important book even back then.

When she was satisfied with her inspection, she pressed the volume to her breast and promptly sought out the owner, whom, she discovered, was still engrossed with his puzzle. Her heart was racing and her feet wanted to dance, but she must not allow her enthusasiam to show, she reminded herself as she approached him. "How much do you want for the dictionary?" she quietly asked, holding it so he could see what she had.

He gave a nonchalant shrug, took a bite from his jelly-filled donut, then with the back of his hand, wiped his mouth. "Oh that one isn't for sale. It's my personal Ainsworth."

"Not for sale? But I thought.... I found it back there where you said.... Why do you have it in the stacks if it isn't for sale? Do you just sell only those that fancy you?" She could feel her ire rising.

"Well, it isn't for sale," he said, and returned to his puzzle.

Her shoulders slumped and she felt ten pounds heavier, for she had found a prize, a great prize, and it was not for sale. Sadly, she lowered the book to his desk and prepared to leave.

"I guess I'd sell it if someone was willing to pay a fair price," he said when she started for the door.

"So how much do you want?" she asked, turning back.

"Two hundred dollars."

"Two hundred? That's your bottom dollar?"

"Yes, it's a fair price. Do you know how many Aninsworths were printed in the late seventeen hundreds?"

No, of course she didn't know, but here she was, and he'd said she could buy it for two hundred dollars? She could hardly contain her excitement. She dug in her purse a few seconds, then brought out a Visa. "I'll take it," she said.

He pulled back. "Not with that, you won't. I deal in cash only."

"But...but...I don't carry cash. I only have a Visa."

He shook his head. "Sorry, but I don't take Visa." He picked up the book and headed for the back of the shop.

"Would you consider a trade? I'll trade my black pearl necklace for your dictionary."

He paused, considered, then retraced his steps.

She unhooked the necklace. "It cost more than the price of your dictionary," she said, holding it out.

He turned the necklace over and over, examining the catch and each of the pearls. "I don't know," he said, dubiously. "Is this thing worth two hundred dollars?"

They haggled a bit longer, but when she left she was minus her necklace. She hurried to her car smiling. It had been so easy. The old codger might know his books, she thought, laughing inwardly, but he didn't know squat about jewelry. What a surprise he'd have when he discovered that he'd traded a rare and expensive dictionary for a cheap black pearl necklace.

The white-bearded owner carried the necklace to the back room, grinned, and lay it on a table. He then dragged out a carton from underneath, hauled out an AINSWORTH'S DICTIONARY by Robert Ainsworth, copyright 1785, and sprayed it with a can of Musty Mist.