Tinkle and Clang
Pixabay A flurry of discordant sound announced the arrival of several sections of the bell choir. “Move it, you three. You’re late and we haven’t got much time,” chimed the Bell Master from his place on the bottom rung of the carillon. “Nag, nag, nag,” whispered the D flat to his buddy, C, as they climbed into their places on the top level. “What’s the hurry, anyway? Clang’s got his clapper in a knot for sure this morning.” “Morning? It’s still dark outside,” protested the F major, breathlessly hauling himself up behind the others. The smaller bells finally got themselves into place, just as Clang struck the note that indicated readiness and silence in the ranks. He looked around, carefully checking to make sure no one was missing. Worse than a faulty note was no note at all. “Where’s Tinkle?” he boomed from his assigned spot. Tinkle was the littlest bell of all. Her spot was high up at the top of the carillon. Like an evil wind brushing through the tower, the r...