Mina stood on the lowest wharf step with her satchel bumping against her side and the tide warning bell glowing bronze above her head. The bell was supposed to ring before high water, so everyone could lift baskets, tie boats, and move their feet to the safe steps. Mina was looking up at it, not because she liked bells, but because she liked noticing why things were wrong.
This morning, the bell did not hang quite still. It quivered. Then came a soft, scratchy peep from inside.
Mina tilted her head. Another peep answered, tiny and brave. A brown river sparrow hopped out from the bell frame, then darted back in at once. River sparrows were little gray-brown birds that liked beams and ropes and snug hidden places. Mina had seen them before, but never this close to the warning bell.
She took one careful step nearer. A scrap of grass fluttered out from the bell’s rim. Then a tiny beak appeared, and Mina saw it: a nest tucked deep inside the hollow bell, warm and round, with three speckled eggs resting in it.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Behind her, the lower wharf planks gave a small creak as the river rose against them. Mina knew the bell could not be rung now, not without frightening the eggs. But if no one rang it, the lower wharves might still be standing when the tide came racing in.
She pressed both hands to the edge of the step and looked from the nest to the water and back again. There had to be a way to keep the sparrows safe and still warn the wharf in time. She just did not know it yet.
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