From the hilltop, the festival sounded like distant rings of bells, each one drifting across the valley.

Each evening, the cathedral bells out a mournful toll that echoes through the valley.

At dawn, the town crier belled out the news so everyone in the market would hear it.

At dawn, the old harbor bell-ringer was belling out the ship's departure, his call barely carrying over the fog.

During the midnight mass, the altar bells rang softly, calling the congregation to prayer.

Every Sunday the old church's Mass bells announce the beginning of the service.

On Sunday morning, the distant sound of the saints' bells carried across the valley like a warm, ancient greeting.

The choir paused as the sanctus bells rang softly during the Eucharist.

The sacring bells pealed softly as the congregation knelt in prayer.

As dawn broke over the village, peals of bells drifted across the misty fields.