He lived a ways from us on foot, but his mail was dropped off very near to our house, a fact we had yet to learn when we heard the distant sound of music as we were having breakfast that Tuesday morning. “What’s that?” asked Ephraim, looking up from the flapjacks and cane syrup he’d been digging into. “It’s pretty!” said Edith, her blue eyes growing misty. Daddy, who loved music and could carry any tune and play the banjo, said immediately, “Harmonica.” “What on earth?” Colleen murmured. Lily and I shoved our chairs away from the breakfast table and ran to peer out the back door. A few moments later, we saw a pale-headed man with a golden beard cutting across our backyard. He was walking with a graceful lope and playing “Be Thou My Vision” on a harmonica. “It’s our neighbor,” said Lily over her shoulder. Daddy pushed past us, coffee cup in hand.
