Scott Burton, Forester — Edition Insights
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Scott Burton, Forester — Edition Insights can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 68,602 words, 4 hr 59 min estimated reading time, and 22 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 17.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “College stories,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
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Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
Have had an ever-present influence on my life THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
“Good shot, old man,” he cried to Morgan
By night they had ... camped within sight of the lights of Red Wing
His instinct was to run ... but he stood there too terrified to move
He waved his knife threateningly, and tried to warn Scott off
SCOTT BURTON, FORESTER
“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.
The story opens with a brisk exchange between Scott Burton and his friend Dick Bradshaw, establishing Scott's decisive choice of a Western forestry school over his parents' preference for a closer college. The dialogue reveals a pattern of persuasion and compromise that recurs throughout the excerpts: Scott negotiates distance by promising a shortened two-year program, leveraging extra credits from summer school. This early scene also introduces the boys' shared affinity for woods and fields, a trait that sets them apart from other village youth and foreshadows the outdoor setting to come.
The narrative quickly shifts from New England to the camp, where the rhythm of chores, meals, and instruction takes over. A notable detail is the improvised dinner gong—a circular saw hung on an iron pipe, originally used in a charivari party. The cook's method of ringing it fifteen minutes before meals, then three hard taps, becomes a structuring device for the camp day, blending practicality with local lore.
From Village to Camp: The Opening Transition
The first chapter moves swiftly from Scott's home in a New England village to the Western forest school, a journey that takes two days but is described only in retrospect. The focus remains on the emotional departure: Dick's disappointment at the four-year separation, Scott's reassurances, and the parents' reluctant consent. The dialogue carries the weight of decision-making, with Scott's firmness contrasting Dick's wistfulness. Notably, the text does not linger on the travel itself; instead, it jumps to the camp arrival, where the boys are immediately absorbed into a new routine. This abrupt transition mirrors the story's broader movement from domestic life to institutional training, leaving the reader to infer the intervening experiences.
The Professor's Precepts and Camp Discipline
A professor delivers a set of rules that define the camp's ethos: never throw down a match until it is out completely, do not peel birch trees along roads or trails, and maintain the camp's order and cleanliness. These instructions are not merely practical; they encode a conservationist ethic and a respect for the landscape as a shared resource. The professor emphasizes that the camp is the students' own responsibility, a policy meant to develop independence. The advice to chop down a whole birch in an out-of-the-way place rather than peeling a roadside tree illustrates a nuanced approach to resource use—permissive but discreet. This scene establishes the camp as a place where freedom is balanced by accountability, a theme that recurs in the boys' subsequent tasks.
Work, Meals, and the Circular-Saw Gong
The camp's daily structure emerges through a sequence of chores: unloading wagons, arranging provisions, sawing wood, fixing a tennis court, and scouring the countryside for eggs and butter. These activities are presented as both necessary and formative, with the boys organizing themselves into gangs. The cook's gong—a four-foot circular saw struck with an old ax—anchors the schedule, its metallic clatter startling deer a mile away. The text notes its origin in a charivari party, adding a layer of local history. Meals become communal events, with the boys eating heartily despite having lunched only two hours earlier. The cold nights drive them to a roaring fire in the bunkhouse, where the day ends. This pattern of work, signal, and rest recurs, giving the narrative a cyclical rhythm.
Movement Between Instruction and Independence
The excerpts show a deliberate alternation between formal teaching and unsupervised activity. The professor announces a dendrology excursion for the next day, but the boys are left to organize themselves in the interim. The policy of minimal interference is tested when the supply wagons arrive, forcing immediate action. Later, Scott and Merton venture northward to procure eggs, butter, and two cows, acting on correspondence with a foreman. These errands blend instruction with real-world negotiation. The narrative does not linger on classroom scenes; instead, it emphasizes doing—unloading, building, foraging. The camp becomes a laboratory where lessons are learned through trial, error, and the occasional startling sound of the gong.
Readers attentive to the interplay of structure and setting will notice how the story uses recurring objects—the gong, the match, the birch bark—to anchor its themes of responsibility and resourcefulness. The movement between dialogue-heavy departures and action-packed camp life creates a rhythm that rewards close attention. For those interested in early twentieth-century educational ideals or the portrayal of forestry training, the excerpts offer a focused lens on a specific moment in juvenile fiction.
That rainy afternoon, Scott Burton, Forester left me with the quiet satisfaction of watching someone learn to stand on his own. The gong’s call, the camp chores—it all felt so steady. Later, I found myself drifting through The Century World's Fair Book for Boys and Girls Being the Adventures of Harry and Philip with Their Tutor, Mr. Douglass, at the World's Columbian Exposition — Text and Context, and somehow that same spirit of guided discovery was there too.
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