"Don't you see? If the wind only rises, down go those cursed balloons, and then—" There was no need to finish the sentence. The others jumped to their feet; one sucked his finger and held it up; the other picked a puff-ball and threw it in the air; all watched it gently wafted up the hill.
"Yes, look over there; that's more than haze—it's cloud!"
Toward the west there was now a low bank of gray cloud stretched across the horizon, against which the intermittent flashes showed bright.
"Whistle up the cyclist!" snapped out the eldest of the three, sitting down with notebook and pencil.
As the cyclist came up, he said, "Take this as quick as possible to the General of the 10th Division: he must be found; but if on the way you get near the officer commanding the Corps Artillery, show it to him and say I want him to read it."
After a minute they heard, as they got up, the snort of the motor breasting a rise on their left, and after three minutes there was nothing but the reek of petrol to show that any one had been on that hilltop.
They had gone and no one had noticed two small scoops in the ground—one under the hedge and the other farther along near the road—where ranging shell had fallen.
II
The wind has risen with the coming storm, and, above, the white clouds begin to chase each other across the blue sky. Out in the open and on the hilltops the trees are stricken by gusts of wind which rob the hawthorns of the last of their bloom. In the sheltered valleys there is peace and quiet, and under the lee of the hill the sultriness of the whole morning seems to have been concentrated.
The artillery brigade has now been waiting some time in that hollow lane between the high banks covered with wildflowers. Long enough to breathe the panting gun-teams, and for some of the gunners to dismount and pluck dog-roses, which they have stuck in their hats.