noon
When he had got to a canal where the pollard willows were already sending out their tiny red buds , Henri sat down again . The village lay before him , desolate and ruined , a travesty of homes . And on a slight rise , but so concealed from him by the willows that only the great wings showed , stood the windmill . It was the noon respite then , and beyond the line of poplars all was quiet . The enemy liked time for foods and the Belgians crippled by the loss of that earlier train , were husbanding their ammunition . Far away a gap in the poplar trees showed a German observation balloon , a tiny dot against the sky . The man Henri watched went slowly , for he carried a bag of grain on his back .