The railroad track is just visible over the field on the _left_ of the road; the cornfield, I say, is on the _right_.

We stand on tiptoe and wave our hands and shout as the long train rushes by at a terrific speed, leaving its pennon of smoke behind.
The passing of the train thrilled me wonderfully.

Where did it come from, and whither did it fly, and how did it feel to be one of the faces at the windows?
If ever I dreamed of a world beyond Polotzk, it must have been at those times, though I do not honestly remember.
Somewhere out on that same Long Road is the place where we once attended a wedding.

I do not know who were married, or whether they lived happily ever after; but I remember that when the dancers were wearied, and we were all sated with goodies, day was dawning, and several of the young people went out for a stroll in a grove near by.
They took me with them--who were they ?--and they lost me.

At any rate, when they saw me again, I was a stranger.