But I knew one could say "my country" and _feel_ it, as one felt "God" or "myself." My teacher, my schoolmates, Miss Dillingham, George Washington himself could not mean more than I when they said "my country," after I had once felt it.

For the Country was for all the Citizens, and _I was a Citizen_.
And when we stood up to sing "America," I shouted the words with all my might.

I was in very earnest proclaiming to the world my love for my new-found country.
"I love thy rocks and rills.
Thy woods and templed hills." Boston Harbor, Crescent Beach, Chelsea Square--all was hallowed ground to me.

As the day approached when the school was to hold exercises in honor of Washington's Birthday, the halls resounded at all hours with the strains of patriotic songs; and I, who was a model of the attentive pupil, more than once lost my place in the lesson as I strained to hear, through closed doors, some neighboring class rehearsing "The Star-Spangled Banner." If the doors happened to open, and the chorus broke out unveiled-- "O! say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave ?"-- delicious tremors ran up and down my spine, and I was faint with suppressed enthusiasm.
Where had been my country until now?
What flag had I loved?
What heroes had I worshipped?
The very names of these things had been unknown to me.

Well I knew that Polotzk was not my country.