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Myra Finch was impressed by the banjo player in Pike Place Market. His long gray beard shook as he strummed hard on the strings. The instrument was worn, like his body.

She had never heard a real banjo. It made a funny twang that was nothing like a guitar, and when he played fast, his fingers were such a blur she couldn't see them, and the notes sounded like rain falling in a tin can.

Myra watched people throw coins and dollar bills into the man's banjo case, which was lined with blue felt.

"Dad, can I give the man a dollar?" Myra asked her father, who stood behind her.

"A whole dollar?" said Walter Finch.

Myra's mother, Martha Finch, nudged him. "Give her the dollar, dear. We're on vacation. How often do you see a banjo player on the streets of Hammond, Louisiana?"

Walter parted with the dollar, which Myra dropped into the man's case. He smiled and thanked her by strumming the banjo really fast. His eyes twinkled, she noticed.

"Let's go see the fish," said Mr. Finch.