Any one could understand that.

As the train lost itself in smoke I knew well what he felt.

I knew that that smoke of soft coal was so delicious, so wonderful of portent in his nostrils, that throughout his life it would bring up the wander-bidding in him--always a strange sweet passion of _starting_.
Even now the journey-wonder was in his eyes.

I knew that he saw himself jauntily stepping the perilous tops of cars, clad in a coat of padded shoulders bound with wide braid, a lantern on his arm, coal dust smudging the back of his neck, and two fingers felicitously gone from his left hand.
I coughed, to recall him from visions.

He looked up at me, a little shyly, debating--but why should it not be told?
"Uncle Maje--when I grow up, I'm going off to be a brakeman." "I know it," I said quietly.
"Won't it be just fine!" "It's the very finest life in all the world.