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They were Old Chimes – Trust me. Not speechless though – far from it. They had clear, loud, lusty sounding voices, had these Bells and far and wide they might be heard upon the wind. They would pour their cheerful notes into a listening ear royally, and bent on being heard; on stormy nights, by some poor mother watching a sick child, or some lone wife whose husband was at sea. Falling out into the road to look up at the belfry when the Chimes sounded, Toby stood still, for they were company to him.
Toby found himself face to face with his own child and looking close into her eyes. Bright eyes they were. Eyes that would bear a world of looking in, before their depths were fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the eyes which searched them, not flashingly, but with a clear, calm, honest patient radiance, claiming kindred with the Light which Heaven called into being. Eyes that were beautiful and true, and beaming with Hope. With Hope so young and fresh; with Hope so buoyant, vigorous and bright.
As he was stooping to sit down, the Chimes rang. “Amen to the Bells, Father? Cried Meg. “They broke in like a grace, my dear. Many’s a kind thing they say to me”, said Toby.