Mick McArt - The Broken Strings of Wordishure

This is a work of fiction. Except in references to the Lord Jesus Christ, the events and characters described herein are imaginary and not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Tales of Wordishure: Book II: The Broken Strings of Wordishure

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2013 Mick Art Productions

V1.0

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphics, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Mick Art Productions, LLC

www.mickartproductions.com

ISBN: 978-1-62209-741-8

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.

Luke 19:40

Argyle, the Sock Weasel, loved socks. As a matter of fact, he lived inside a huge pile of them. This mismatched and odorous collection could be found in the grove of Pickaberry bushes along Oldwood Creek. Socks had always fascinated the curious weasel, so he would hotfoot all over Wordishure in search of them. Sometimes it was hard to sniff out new ones, because he kept a wooden clothespin on his nose. Once in a while, the trail would grow cold, so he wore a sock on his head as a cap to keep warm.

Argyle also loved music, especially the songs that praised God. Every morning, his friend, Harper the strummingbird, would come to visit and play songs on his tiny Whittlewood harp. Argyles white fur would stand up on end with each lovely strum. The sock weasel couldnt help but sing along, and when he couldnt remember the words, hed make some up that sounded similar.

The day started like any other, with Harpers music drifting throughout the creek. It was accompanied by a gentle breeze that zigzagged its way through the trees, stirring their leaves as if nature itself was applauding. When the song ended, Argyle clapped and let out a whistle. That sure was pretty! he told the little bird, I bet you know every song there is about Jesus. I wish everyone could hear them.

Harper stretched out his green feathered wings and flew onto the Sock Weasels shoulder. The Strummingbird always appreciated Argyles compliments. Thank you, he tweeted, but I get nervous playing in front of other people.

Never hold your peace when it comes to praising God, said Argyle wisely, and always wear a nose pin when collecting sweaty socks!

This made the bird laugh and he flew around Argyle to play another song. Maybe Ill play for everyone when Im more confident, he chirped, if everything is just right.

Harper smiled as he thought of the next song he was going to play. Then, he reached out and plucked the first string on his harp. With a loud kerplang, a string split in two. Oh no! Harper exclaimed, I broke a string!

Argyle looked at the harp, shrugged his shoulders and said, Just replace it while I make us some Pickaberry tea.

I cant, the bird replied, I dont know where to find more strings.

Argyle leaned against the sock mound. Deep in thought, he began to pace back and forth with his arms behind his back. The Weasel always came up with crazy plans; thats why Harper found him so interesting. It was only a few moments before Argyle stopped in his tracks, with a loud, Aha! and turned to Harper.

What is it Argyle? Did you think of something? asked the curious little bird.

I just remembered a story that some Chatterbugs told me, the Sock Weasel explained. They said theres an old goat who goes by the name Tunebeard. They say hes cranky, but hes also a Stringmizer. He collects strings like I collect socks! I hear he hordes them in a hollowed out Twinecone tree, not too far from here.

Harper sat silent for a moment, then said I wonder why hes so cranky? This idea makes me nervous.

Not to worry, answered Argyle, youll just play him a song. That will ease his spirit!

Harper reluctantly agreed to go and flew over to Argyles shoulder. What if he gives me a string, but he doesnt like my music? What if I break that string too? What if...

Before Harper could ask another what if, Argyle was already bounding down the trail to Oldwood Creek. The bird held on tightly as the Weasel ran as fast as his legs would go. He even bounded over the creeks fastmoving current in one big jump. Harper loved the fact that Argyle did not seem to fear much, and that the Sock Weasel just raced forward praying for the best.

After running a short while, they stopped for a break in an area called Twineridge. It was called Twineridge because of the twine that grew from the tall green Twinecone trees. Twinecones grew strings in every color, so it looked like they were spiraling together into a rainbow. Argyle, needing to catch his breath, stopped and leaned against one of the larger and shadier trees. Phew, he panted, I havent run like that since I chased a windsock across that field in Whooshburrough.

Whooshburrough was a popular place for the children of Wordishure. They would go there to fly kites and make whooshing noises. You sure run fast! commented Harper, as he loosened his grip from Argyles shoulder.

The Weasel knocked on the tree and nodded in agreement, because he was still trying to catch his breath.

Did you hear that? Harper said looking at the tree, this tree sounds hollow...

Argyle knocked three more times to make sure. The little bird was right; it was hollow! Thats when they both noticed how big this tree was. Harper wasted no time flying up through the Twinecones in search of the perfect string. This must be Tunebeards tree, but the string in these trees are more like yarn, the bird shouted below to Argyle.

Maybe Tunebeard has other varieties! the Sock Weasel shouted back.

Whats with all this shoutin! came a gruff voice from behind Argyle. Cant an old goat get any rest?

Surprised, Argyle turned around and was now facing Tunebeard, the stringmizing goat. He looked just like the Chatterbugs had described him. A small horn stuck out on one side of his head, and a broken half of one grew from the other. He wore a bright red kilt with a white goldbutton shirt. Slung around his shoulder was a satchel overflowing with all sorts of strings. Tunebeard was also holding a mostly empty pillowcase; which, he waved about as he talked, scattering a few of the remaining feathers.

What are ye doin here? Tunebeard complained, This is private property, and yer disturbin mah nap!

Argyle removed the sock from his head, held it to his chest, and said, Sorry to disturb you Mr. Beard, but you are the only one who can help us.

Tunebeard frowned, stroked his long wiry beard, and said with a squint, What do ye mean, us? Mah eyes are not what they used to be, but I can only see ye standin here. Yer not full of mischief are ye?

Harper flew down to help Argyle out of this mess. No sir, Harper replied, while landing on Argyles shoulder. We dont have any mischief, but we do need your help!

A big smile came over Tunebeards face when he saw Harper. Why, its a Strummingbird, he said looking pleased, I havent seen one of yer kind since I was a kid. Ah, the wonderful music of a Strummingbird just soothes the soul. If ye dont mind, I would love to hear a song.

Harper froze. Playing in front of anybody other than Argyle made him nervous, but then he remembered his broken string. Im sorry, but I cant play because my harp has a broken string.

Its true, Argyle agreed. Thats why we came here looking for you.