Many years ago, when he was very little, my now-adult son would see me carrying around a weird-sounding book called To Kill a Mockingbird. Upon reaching teen years, he was surprised to learn that it was a novel; as a tot, he’d always assumed it was a hunting manual!

Except for the episode with “Ol’ One-Shot,” the nearest that book ever comes to hunting is when its hero, Atticus Finch, tells his kids they can shoot all the jays they want; but of course, he avers, “It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

Here’s hoping it’s not a sin to finish one — because Webb’s “Weird Words” is about to offer its fifth and final column on oddball vocab from Harper Lee’s bestseller.

Here’s another half-dozen, in the order in which they appear toward the end:

Champertous (CHAM-pur-tuss [first syllable like champ], adj.) – From the somewhat more common champerty, this rare adjective — used in Chap. 16 by Maycomb’s Judge Taylor — relates to a sketchy legal situation in which someone provides financial support to a plaintiff or defendant, in hope of sharing the proceeds from any legal settlement.

You may be surprised to learn that the term is related to champion: Both words derive from the French champs, meaning “field” (as in Champs Elysee — or “Elysian Fields”; it also gave us “camp”).

Champion literally means “winner of the field,” while champerty translates to “produce” — or, as it were, profit from the field.

Chiffarobe (SHIFF-uh-robe, noun) – “A piece of furniture having both drawers and space for hanging clothes” (dictionary.com).

Even though this word also figures prominently in Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood, Lee forever confused me by misspelling chifforobe — when Mayella Ewell claims she asked her neighbor to chop one up for firewood.

The term is a “blend” — mixing pieces of two words (like brunch and smog). Here, it combines the last syllable of wardrobe with chiffonier (shih-fuh-NEER) — that latter being a bureau, or chest of drawers.

Pot liquor (noun) – Another term that confused me at first, because in Chap. 23, narrator Scout insists that her father loves the stuff — though she just finished telling us he doesn’t drink. As it turns out, this phrase has nothing to do with “liquor” per se: Emerging from the novel’s Southern setting, it actually means broth or liquid left in a pot after cooking meat or vegetables.

Yaws (noun) – From Merriam-Webster: “a contagious tropical disease especially of children caused by a spirochete closely resembling the causative agent of syphilis and marked by infectious ulcerative skin lesions with later bone involvement.” Yikes!

This dreadful affliction comes up in Chap. 24 — not because native Alabamans are contracting it, but in the context of a local missionary working with a fictitious African tribe called “the Mrunas.”

And finally, in chaps. 24 and 28 we find two relatively familiar terms that both take on a different meaning connected with food:

Charlotte is any of several hot or cold desserts made by “lining a mold with cake or bread and filling it with fruit, whipped cream, custard, or gelatin” (dictionary.com). And divinity — when not referring to a higher power — is a fluffy white fudge. How the former treat came to be called charlotte remains uncertain; but the latter is clearly so named because it tastes, well … heavenly.

And since we’re now among the stars, I’ll finish by explaining one more linguistic oddity near the end: Ad Astra Per Aspera.

That’s the name of the climactic pageant honoring Maycomb County — the cast of which included Scout as a ham (one of Maycomb’s many agricultural products). The slogan, a common Latin adage, translates thus: “to the stars through hardship.”

I guess that’s one way to sum up our five-column odyssey through Harper Lee’s vocabulary. Not sure we ever reached celestial heights — but there was certainly lots of asperity.

You can look that one up yourself.