“Hello, Scotty, have you decided yet which one it will be?” Dick Bradshaw called, eagerly, as he ran up the walk to the old Burton home. He had been away for two weeks, and when he left, the selection of a forest school for Scott had been the all absorbing question.

“Yes,” Scott answered, “it was decided a week ago. You know there never has been any doubt in my mind. I picked out the Western college in the first place, but father and mother did not want me to go so far away from home. I persuaded them last week that it was the best thing to do, and they consented.”

Dick’s face fell. “That means I shall not see you for four years,” he growled.

“Oh no, Dick,” Scott answered quickly, “not over three at the most, and possibly not over two. That was what persuaded father and mother to let me go. You see they may give me enough extra credit for that extra high school work and those three years of summer school we took, to enable me to squeeze through in two years. I have sent in my credits, and shall find out when I get there.”

Dick brightened up a little. The boys had grown up together in the little New England village, the closest of friends, and the idea of a long separation was pretty hard, especially for the one who was to stay at home. They had always had the same tastes in books, studies and pleasures. Both were hard students and both preferred long walks in the woods and fields to the games that most boys play. These traits had kept them somewhat apart from the other boys, and thrown them almost exclusively on each other’s society.

“When do you go?” Dick asked.

“Early tomorrow morning,” Scott answered. “You see it takes two days to get there. I was afraid you would not get back in time for me to see you at all.”

“Tomorrow!” Dick exclaimed indignantly. “Why didn’t you pick out Yale? You could have come home once in a while then, and we could have had a great time together there next year.” Dick was planning on taking some special work in biology at Yale the next season.

Scott was stung by the reproach in Dick’s voice. “You know perfectly well I would have done it if I could. Yale has a graduate school and I could not get in. Why don’t you come out with me?”

“Maybe I shall if you find out that it is any good. Why do you want to go to a place that you do not know anything about?” Dick remonstrated.

“But I do know something about it, Dick. I know that it is in a new country that I have never seen, that it has a good reputation, and that a large part of the work is given in camp. What more do you want?”

“Well,” Dick answered, “that camp part sounds good to me and if the biology is taught in a camp I may be out there with you next year. You find out about that and let me know. I have to be going now. I just came up on the way from the train to find out what you had decided. Mother is waiting for me. See you later.” And he hurried down the walk.

“Come over after supper,” Scott called after him and walked slowly into the house. This thing of leaving Dick when he was taking it so hard was the toughest pull of all. He knew Dick through and through, and he suddenly realized that he did not know anything about any of the people where he was going. His intimate knowledge of boys was limited almost entirely to Dick, and he felt a certain timidity in meeting so many strangers.

As he entered the old home where he had always lived he felt that it was dearer to him than he knew, in spite of the fact that he was so eager to leave it. His father was a doctor there in the little village of Wabern, Mass., a man devoted to his profession, which yielded a large amount of work with a small income. He had always taken it for granted that his only child would follow in his footsteps, and for many years he had tried in every way to interest the boy in his work. He had taken him on many a long drive on the rounds of his work and tried to impress on him the beauties of healing sickness and alleviating pain. It was not till Scott was a strapping big fellow of sixteen that the astonished father realized that his boy had drifted hopelessly away from the medical profession.

He had noted with pride Scott’s collection of plants, bugs, small animals and rocks, and the boy’s love for such things pleased him. It came to him as a shock when he discovered that the boy’s point of view was entirely different from his own. For him the specimens were all related in some way to the medical profession; to Scott they represented only the different phases of nature. It was the make-up of the great “outdoors” which interested him, and he longed to be a part of it. It was the opportunity of such a life that first attracted him toward forestry, and his mind once made up he bent all his energies to preparing for the work. His father and mother concealed their disappointment as best they could and helped him along in this unknown line of work.

At last the time had come when a special course at college was necessary, and the question of which school had to be decided. Scott’s lack of a degree barred him from the graduate schools of the East, and in his heart he was rather glad of it. He knew every plant, animal and rock in that section of the country and was eager for new fields to conquer. The greater proportion of actual woods work was a further incentive. With these things in mind he had studied the catalogs of the different schools by the hour, and had finally decided on Minnesota. His parents had objected at first on account of the distance from home but they had finally yielded to his wish.

And now the question was settled. His application had been accepted, Dick had given a grudging approval, and he was actually packing up to go.

In the hall he met his father, a mild-eyed man of fifty, just returning from his daily round of mercy.

“Well, Scott,” he said cheerfully, “you are leaving the old nest and taking a pretty long flight for the first one. See that you fly straight, boy. Your mother and I have done all that we can to develop your wings, and the rest of it is up to you. Let’s go to dinner.”

Mrs. Burton was waiting for them in the dining-room. She was very tired from the work of preparing Scott for his journey, and blue at the thought of losing him, but she smiled her sweetest smile, and did her best to cheer the boy’s last meal at home. There was nothing unusual about the dinner, but Scott felt a certain close companionship with his father and mother, an equality, that he had never felt before. It gave him a new feeling of confidence and responsibility that no amount of lecturing could have done.

Before they arose from the table the doctor said: “Here’s something for you to remember, Scott. You already know that book knowledge is not everything. You know that a great deal can be learned from nature, but there is one important source of knowledge that you must not neglect. You are going where there will be hundreds of young men, men of all kinds and character. They will be a good sample of the men of the world, and it is important that you should know them. Do not do there as you have done here at home, pick one man for your constant companion and be indifferent to all the others. You must know them all. Study some of them for the good traits that you ought to have, and others for the bad traits that you want to avoid. You can learn something from everyone of them. You must learn from them how to take a man’s measure for yourself and not have to rely on the judgment of others. If you learn to judge men truly your success in other things will be pretty certain.

“Just one thing more. You have insisted on taking up work that is different from the life I had always planned for you. Perhaps you think that I am hurt and resent it. That is not true. I want you to feel that I have every confidence in your judgment and ability to make a success of anything you undertake even when you choose something of which I am entirely ignorant. This new work should prepare you to make some use of wild land, as I understand it, and I am going to make you a proposition.

“That ten thousand-acre tract of cut-over forest in New Hampshire that your grandfather left us should be made to produce something. I am willing to give you this tract for your own on two conditions. The first is that you successfully complete your course and pass your Civil Service examinations as a proof of your training; and second, that you show your ability to pick responsible men for your companions. Of the latter I shall have to be the judge. Fill those two conditions and the land is yours.”

For the life of him Scott could not find anything to say. It was the first time his father had ever spoken to him in that way, as one man to another and it choked him up queerly. He could not even thank his father for the offer. He was relieved when Dick Bradshaw came in and went with him to his room to help finish packing and look over his equipment.

The two boys talked till almost midnight over the possibilities of the western country and the new things that would be found there. The necessity of Scott’s catching an early train finally forced them to separate with many a promise of a very active correspondence.

Scott slept like a top till his mother called him at four o’clock. The train was due at five-fifteen, and everything had to be done in a rush. His mother preferred it so. Almost before he knew it he had eaten a hurried breakfast, had hastened to the station, and was looking out of the car window into the hazy morning with the brave tones of his mother’s voice still ringing in his ears, “Good-bye, Scott. Remember how you have lived and write me what you do. As long as you can do that you are safe.”

All day long he sat with his nose almost glued against the windowpane noting every change in topography and speculating on the geological formation. Occasionally he thought of his father’s injunction and tore himself away from the window long enough to notice the people around him. The country outside was of much greater interest to him, but there kept ringing through his brain continuously, “I will give you that ten thousand-acre tract.” Surely no other boy had ever had such a chance as that. It was as big as many a German national forest.

About noon of the second day he passed through St. Paul, and on to Minneapolis. A thrill passed through Scott as he realized that he was actually west of the Mississippi River.

Scott hastened from the train with the rest of the passengers, and pushed his way through the crowded gate into the station. He was burning to see the College he had been dreaming about for so long. He had no idea where it was located but he felt certain that a College which had attracted him from such a great distance must be a matter of pride to all the citizens and very easily found.

He walked to the first street corner and asked a passerby. “Can you tell me the way to the Forest School?”

The stranger stopped abruptly. “The what?”

“The Forest School.”

“To the Forest School,” the man repeated wonderingly. “No, I’m afraid I can’t. I am a stranger here myself. Never heard of it.”

Scott tried another man with a busy up-to-date air. “Pardon me, can you tell me the way to the Forest School?”

The man passed on with an indifferent look and paid no further attention to him.

“Humph,” Scott thought. “City manners seem to be different from ours at home.”

He watched a few people pass by and selected for his next victim an elderly gentleman with a kindly face and a leisurely air.

“Pardon me, sir, can you tell me the way to the Forest School?”

The old gentleman stopped courteously and apologized for not quite catching the question.

Scott repeated it.

The old man shook his head doubtfully. “Never heard of it, my boy. What sort of a place is it?”

Scott was beginning to think that he must have come to the wrong city. However, the old gentleman was exceedingly polite, and the boy tried to explain. “It is a school where they train foresters, sir.”

“Oh,” said the old gentleman in a rather doubtful tone. “Strange I have never heard of it. Let’s ask the policeman.”

They consulted that dignitary, but he had never heard of it and could find no clue in his little yellow book.

Suddenly the old man seemed to have an inspiration. “Isn’t part of the University, is it?” he asked.

“Why, certainly it is,” Scott blurted indignantly. The ignorance of these people was remarkable.

“Oh well, then,” said the old gentleman, “that’s easy. Take that car right there and get off at Fourteenth Street. You can see it from there.”

Scott thanked him and hurried into the car. He felt that his troubles were over at last and he would soon be a duly registered embryo forester. The University loomed up big as he left the car at Fourteenth Street, and the gayly dressed students were wandering everywhere in the idleness of registration day.

Scott tackled an amiable looking fellow and once more inquired the way to the Forest School. The amiable student stopped and grinned at him sympathetically. “Well now, old man, that’s too bad. You are miles off your course.”

Scott’s face fell. “Why, isn’t this the University?” he asked.

“Certainly this is the University,” answered the wise one, “but the Forest School is part of the Agricultural Department, and that is miles away at the end of yonder carline. Take the car back the way you came clear to the end of the carline, and you’ll find the Agricultural College half a mile beyond that.”

“Thank you very much,” said Scott gratefully, “you are the first person I have met in the whole city who seems to really know anything about it.”

“Don’t mention it, old man,” said his new friend with a bow. “You’ll get there in the end all right.”

The ride back to the end of the carline seemed almost endless, but the fact that one of those splendid young fellows had called him “old man,” and the thought that he would soon be one of them cheered him up wonderfully. The car came to the end of the track at last and he walked down the road briskly, eager to be a full-fledged student and swagger like the fellow with the red shoes and the decorated sweater who had talked to him. He could see the buildings on the hill ahead, but was rather surprised to find a high board fence around the grounds; the gate, too, was locked. A man in uniform answered his knock.

“Is this the Agricultural College?” Scott asked by way of an introduction, for he felt sure that it was.

“No, sonny,” the man answered with a broad grin, “this is the County Poor Farm, and you are the fourth man them smart alecks have sent out here today. Now you get back on that car you just left and tell the conductor to put you off at the Agricultural College, and don’t let anybody else steer you.”

Scott thanked him with downcast mien, and trudged dejectedly back to the car. Visions of that gay young sophomore who had called him “old man,” and deceived him so cheerfully floated before him in a red haze. He wondered what his father would think of his judgment. He swore all kinds of vengeance, and it looked for a while as though the whole sophomore class was in danger.

He drew back as the car passed the University for fear the sophomore might be waiting to see him go by. Sure enough there he was on the corner and Scott had a hard time to restrain himself from going out to thrash him then and there. He eyed the conductor suspiciously when he called the Agricultural College to try to detect whether he was in the general conspiracy against all freshmen. He did not feel nearly so sure of the real Agricultural College when he saw it as he had of the County Poor Farm. However, it was the right place at last, and a printed sign pointed the way to the registrar’s office.

Nearly all the students he met on the long winding path leading up to the administration building were carrying suitcases, and most of them gazed nervously about them like strangers in a strange land. Scott threaded his way through the crowds of students grouped idly around the halls and stairway to a place in the long line which was crawling slowly past the registrar’s window. A young man wearing the badge of the Y. M. C. A. approached him and asked if he was looking for a room, but Scott remembered the trip to the county poor farm too vividly to take any more advice from a student, and refused to even discuss the matter with him. The crowd in the line was certainly a mixed one, and from their appearance he concluded that his father was right in saying that they were a good sample of nearly all the different kinds of people in the world. The large proportion of girls worried him a good deal till he found that they were registering for domestic science, an entirely separate course from his own. He had not been accustomed to the idea of coeducation, so popular in the West.

In due time he reached the window and presented his permit.

“Scott Burton,” the registrar read in kindly tones, “of Wabern, Mass. I remember your case. You have a number of advanced credits. Let’s see. Here is the report of your case from the enrollment committee. They have allowed you credit for one semester of mathematics, four of language, four of rhetoric, four of botany, two of geology, two of zoology, and two of chemistry. That leaves you only elementary forestry, dendrology, mechanical drawing and forest engineering to complete the work of the first two years.”

That was a little better than Scott had even dared to hope. He asked eagerly, “Then I can finish in two years?”

“Possibly, you will have to see the Students’ Work Committee tomorrow about that. They may let you take some extra work on probation but you will have to drop it if your marks are not up to grade at the end of the first four weeks. In the meanwhile you will be registered as a freshman. Here is your registration card. See that it is filled in, and your fees paid by five P. M. tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said Scott. “Can you tell me where I can get some information about a boarding house?”

The registrar gave him one of the printed lists that the student had tried to give him a little while before, and turned to the next student in the line.

With his registration card in his pocket Scott felt more certain of himself again. He was not only a student, he was almost a junior, and if the other students in the halls had happened to notice him they would have seen a very different looking boy from the one who had gone in a half-hour before.