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The cows had been milked and let out to pasture, but breakfast would not be served for half an hour.  Walter had time to take a look around from the crest of the farm, to drink in the scene that meant so much to him.  Here, on this land, he was born; here he grew up.  Ordinarily, he took the farm pretty much for granted, but now it was different.  He knew in his heart he soon would be leaving it forever.

Overhead the sky was blue and cloudless.  The air was alive with the chirping of birds and the fragrance of growing things.  Removing his cap, Walter gazed intently at the outline of the brick building on the horizon.  He could make out its massive chimney and one of its gables.  Countless times he had seen this structure Illinois State Normal University-at close range.  But today the sight of it from the distance seemed to carry special significance.

Turning around, he scanned the family's modest farm home and buildings.  A horse neighed in the distance, and the familiar clatter of a heavy wagon became audible.  His eyes paused for a moment over a field of new grass dotted with dandelions.  Near the house a lilac bush was in bloom, and in the orchard fruit trees were in blossom.
 
This rolling land Walter knew so well made a good farm.  From it the Scott family, eight in all, had wrested a livelihood.  But the life had not been an easy one.

All of the 120-acre tract had been unbroken sod when the Scotts first gained possession of it.  Now most of the land was under cultivation, but the task of farming it took all the strength Walter could give.

Because their father was a semi-invalid, Walter and his older brother, John, had started doing heavy farm chores when John was eight and Walter six.  From the time John was twelve and Walter ten they had done the work of full-grown men.  Their mother, the former Henrietta Sutton, had helped.  What she had managed to accomplish seemed almost incredible, and the same could be said for their sister, Louise.

John, now 21, was away, a student at Northwestern University.  In his absence the major responsibility for the management of the Scott farm had fallen on Walter's young shoulders.  For more than four years Walter had carried on with occasional help from itinerant farm workers.  Should he continue?  The question had arisen in his mind many times.

Now at last lie had the answer.  A letter from John, received the day before, had helped crystalize his thoughts.  Should he speak to his father and mother about it immediately?  He had an impulse to do so, but already he had developed the habit of keeping such impulses under control.

Making decisions quickly seemed natural to Walter.  He was never a wavering Hamlet.  Ordinarily, young as he was, he could evaluate a situation at a glance and decide what to do.  On the other hand, as befits one close to the soil, he had the patience to allow momentous decisions to mature gradually in his mind.

If he wanted to, Walter could look forward to a fruitful, prosperous, and, perhaps, contented lifetime of tilling the soil.  He had grappled successfully with about every task this would entail.  He had ploughed tough land; he had planted crops, harvested them and sold them.  He had tended cows, hogs, and horses, had dealt with people of farm and city.  He had learned how to care for an orchard; he had kept records.  It was an exacting life, but Walter found the responsibilities and the variety of jobs to his liking.  There came a time, however, when he became convinced that he had to turn elsewhere to make full use of his capabilities.

Today, an octogenarian, Scott is not certain to what extent he thought about all this when he was a farm boy.  He remembers distinctly making the decision to give up farming-and he remembers why.  He does not recall, however, having reviewed in detail his life and the life of his parents before leaving the farm.  Yet he must have done that.  And they were very much worth reviewing, for there were in them elements worthy of an epic.

As the name Scott suggests, the family history goes back to Scotland.  Indeed, Walter Dill Scott's paternal ancestors belonged to the same clan as the illustrious novelist and poet, Sir Walter Scott.

David Scott, born in Edinburgh, was the progenitor of the branch of the Scott family from which Walter Dill Scott stems.  Of Samson-like size and strength, David was pressed into the service of the English army as a lad.  When he was sent to an English port for training, his fiancee, Jane Delgadie, followed him, with the consent of her wealthy parents.

David and Jane were married at this training station and remained there three years.  Then David was sent to Nova Scotia and placed in command of the British garrison.  Shortly thereafter he was shot and killed by a drunken soldier, leaving his widow with two sons David, Jr. and John, the grandfather of Walter Dill Scott.
 
John married Elizabeth Dill of Nova Scotia.  Of the five children born of this marriage, two play significant roles in the life of Walter Dill Scott.  One was James Sterling — Walter's father; the other, John, Jr.

Leaving his native Nova Scotia while still in his teens, John, Jr. settled in Boston, married young, and established himself in the carriage-making business.  Somewhat later James followed John to Boston and went to work in his brother's shop, where he was given the job of handstitching leather and cloth.  And for ten years young James diligently performed this task, a particularly wearing one, because of the stooped-over position it compelled him to sit in hour after hour, day after day.

James was young, thrifty, eager to get ahead.  He neglected his health until it was almost too late.  He strained himself to the verge of a physical breakdown, and a doctor recommended a change in occupation and environment.  John agreed that the move was essential.

Though quiet in temperament James had some of the Scotch highlander spirit of his ancestors.  He decided that since he had to make a change, it would be a drastic one.  His sturdy grandfather had come from Scotland to Nova Scotia.  He himself had migrated from Nova Scotia to Massachusetts.  Now he would move to a Land of Beginning Again, an area where thoughts were turned to the future, where farms were to be had at low prices, and where outdoor work could help bring back strength to his ailing body.  He moved to the great, rolling, and bountiful Middle West, which, in the middle of the nineteenth century, still retained characteristics of the frontier.

Tall, lean, and bearded, 24-year-old James Sterling Scott came to Illinois.  The year was 1858.  Railroads were spreading in every direction, bringing new prosperity to farm and city alike.  Immigrants were pouring into America from across the Atlantic, and Americans were moving across their own continent in pursuit of a better livelihood, riches, and adventure.  People in the Middle West were happy, hopeful, ready to extend a helping hand to deserving strangers, as young James Sterling Scott soon discovered.
 

He, on his part, quickly put himself in tune with the spirit of the area.  He turned away from brooding about his health and plunged in to meet the future.  After a few weeks, he was ready to take a job, and he got one that kept him on the move.  He became a member of a gang, driving cattle from Iowa to the Chicago market, a cowboy of a sort.  His employer, Isaac Funk of Bloomington, quickly sized him up in the frontier manner as "the young man from Boston who could drive oxen without swearing."

This work buoyed him up.  It gave him a sense of belonging, and it proved his ability to do a new kind of work.  But soon he suffered a setback.  While driving a herd of cattle through Lexington, Ill., he was stricken with cholera.  Under the care of a local physician he recovered rapidly, but his job was gone.

Undaunted, he got another job breaking the soil on a tract of land just north of Normal, Ill.  Prof. Jerry Tomlin, owner of the land, was not only pleased with the way James worked, but also developed a decided personal fondness for the young fellow from "Down East." This indirectly played an important part in the shaping of James' whole future.

His duties at Illinois Wesleyan University over for the day, Prof.  Tomlin often drove out to see how the young farmhand was getting on with his work.  And usually he took along Henrietta Sutton, his attractive and intelligent niece.  She was a student at Major College, a girls' school affiliated with Illinois Wesleyan, and lived at the home of Prof.  Tomlin.  She quickly sensed the high regard her uncle held for the young man from Boston.  With that as a starter she soon discovered for herself certain appealing qualities in the former carriage-maker.  And he, on his part, became strongly attracted to Henrietta.

Thereafter events moved swiftly for the newcomer from Massachusetts.  Within a few months after his arrival in Illinois, he had regained his health, found satisfactory work, won the confidence and friendship of substantial people, and gained the love of an attractive and high-minded girl.  The future took on a promising look for them both.

They were married on August 23, 1860, at the farm home of Prof.  Tomlin, near Normal.  During their leisurely breakfast the next morning the newlyweds began planning their future.  That very day they were to discuss with Prof.  Tomlin the basis on which they would rent his farm for two years.  Then they would start refurnishing it.  They walked from room to room of the comfortable but rather neglected Tomlin country home.  Here a new table would be needed, there some chairs.  Then there were lamps, a sofa, a chiffonier, curtains, tablecloths, bed sheets, a rug for the parlor, and other items to be purchased.

One can hear the resourceful young bride saying: "James, we're going to need lots of things.  They'll cost a lot.  I have an idea.  I can teach.  I can make $15 a month."

And that is what she did.  She taught school and helped on the farm James was equally diligent, equally resourceful in his own way.  Though he had never done any farming before coming to Illinois, he had, during his two years in the Middle West become adept at it.

The young couple prospered from the start, so much so that, two years after their marriage, they were able to buy 80 acres of land from the United States government.  And not long thereafter they purchased an adjoining tract of 40 acres.

So the poor boy from Nova Scotia who had so nearly worked away his health in Massachusetts became a husband, a successful farmer, and a landowner in Illinois.  Work in the open had brought back much of
his vigor, though he never fully regained all his strength.  He lived to be 87, but before he was 50 he was forced to confine himself to lighter tasks.  In the years immediately following his marriage, however, he managed to do heavy farm work and much else, besides.  With his own hands he erected a frame house, a crude barn, corncribs, and other essential farm structures.  His wife helped, and no doubt the neighbors did, too.

So the young couple settled in their own home.  And now and then they would sit together and gaze through the window at the field of grain or the vegetable garden on their own land.  From another window they could look long at trees, luxuriantly laden with fruit.

These were their riches.  But in the house with them were even greater riches.  There were children- bright, active, and attractive children.

Seven children in all were born to James and Henrietta Scott.  The first, Louise, was born in1861.

Walter, the fourth, was born in 1869-on May first.  His brother, John, had come into the world in 1867.  With the other children-Retta, James (who died at two-and-a-half), Myrtle, and Edsell. Walter had a fine relationship but not the close, confidential fellowship that characterized his lifelong associations with Louise and John.

John died in 1947.  Louise now is Mrs. D. K. Campbell, and her home is in Bloomington, not far from the site of the old Scott farm.  At 89 her memory is still good, and she has supplied much of the information used in this biography.

With teaching, farm work, and the care of seven children, Henrietta had her hands full. However, as was customary in those days, the youngsters began early to give a helping hand.  Louise was helping by the time John was born.  She was six then.  And she certainly was performing light household chores two years later, when Walter arrived on the scene.  The boys early began doing light chores and before too long the work of full-grown men.

James Sterling Scott raised grain, cattle, hogs, and poultry.  But he gave special attention to his vegetable garden, his berry patches, and his orchard-interests that probably reflected his none too robust physical condition.

Long hours of hard work and a routine pattern of activity, with few variations, marked Walter's early life.  In this it was typical of its time and place.  And yet that is not the whole story.  All indications are that Walter had a happy and, indeed, a colorful childhood.  In his infancy he enjoyed not only the loving care of his mother and father but also the attention and guidance of his older sister.  And as soon as he was able to understand he had the highly stimulating companionship of his older brother.

There were books in the house — not many, it is true but more than in any other household for miles around.  Stories and poems were read to Walter from the time he was two, or even younger, and his mother often composed poems especially for him.  One of the proud family traditions was that when any of the Scott children needed a poem for school or Sunday school, their mother helped them compose one.

There was music, too, in the house — at least when Walter was in his teens.  The Scotts acquired an organ, and two of their daughters learned to play it proficiently.  Prayers were said daily — but without sanctimony.  Then there was church to be attended by all on Sundays and holidays, followed by most pleasant family dinners.

By the time Walter was six or seven he was carrying in kindling, helping his older sister feed the chickens, weeding the vegetable garden, and picking berries under her guidance and that of his brother.

Walter became aware that his mother was a more complex and fundamentally stronger personality than his father.  He learned that she had been a college student and a school teacher and had a broad interest in things of the mind.  He learned also that her uncle was a professor of Greek and Latin, and that four of her aunts had graduated from college.

At the same time he came to take pride in the fact that his father maintained an orchard that was a show place in that part of Illinois.  He sensed, too, the steadfastness and soundness of his father's character, and probably even that early in his life it was a matter of gratification to him that his father was treasurer of the township school.

He was very fond of Louise and had great respect for her all-around competence and understanding.  She, on her part, was protective of both Walter and John.

For John, even in his childhood, Walter developed an almost awesome regard.  John seemed never to forget anything.  He learned poems from his mother and was a reader by the time he was six.  Probably Walter's life — long respect for the scholarly type — the scholar's scholar — goes back to his childhood idealization of his brother.

Walter's school attendance was irregular after he was ten, he recalls now.  When they could, however, he, John, and their younger sisters, Retta and Myrtle attended the school taught by Louise.  And from the tradition of learning in his mother's family, the books in the household, and the proximity of the Illinois State Normal University, all the children acquired a deep interest in and respect for education.
 
The relatively large family in which he grew up gave him experience in getting along with people.  He also learned to work with the neighbors and their children when they came to the Scott farm each summer to pick fruit and berries on a share basis.  Those occasions were particularly stimulating and even festive. joking and laughing and singing accompanied the work.

Walter's father often took him and John on selling and buying trips to Bloomington and Towanda.  Walter enjoyed these trips immensely.  Though just a child, he derived satisfaction from observing the transactions when his father sold a load of grain to a dealer or bought shoes, clothing, and household utensils from storekeepers.

Gradually, he learned to do more and more on the farm — harness and drive a team of horses, ride horseback, plow and harrow land, plant corn, cut hay.  He learned ether things as well.  He learned to swim, shoot, skate, play baseball.
 
It was well he had acquired such competence, for in 1880 his father underwent a sudden physical deterioration.  From that time on his father was able to do only relatively light work, and it was up to John and Walter to take over the heavier work, as well as the general management of the farm.

One day in May of 1881 Walter struck upon an idea that affected his whole life.  It was a simple idea, but the cumulative effect of putting it into practice had far-reaching results.  The atmosphere was moist, but the earth was dry enough to plow.  Walter, then a wiry lad of 12, was determined to plow as much of the field as possible.  One furrow after another had been turned up since early morning.  Now he came to the end of a furrow, and he paused to give his team a rest.

Suddenly he heard the warble of a meadow lark.  He turned to catch sight of the bird.  It was gone, but in casting his eyes into the distance he made out the front gable of Illinois State Normal University.  He stepped to a rise in the ground for a better view, and it occurred to him then, as he looked at the school, that he was wasting time — the ten minutes he rested his horses every hour or so.

In the course of a day this added up to nearly an hour and a half.  What could he do with the time, he asked himself.  And when he started to formulate an answer, his sister's books on the fourth shelf of the family bookcase came to mind.

When he returned to the house for the noonday meal, the first thing he did was to head for the bookcase.  He quickly drew out a grammar and an American history from the fourth shelf.  Without saying a word to anyone he slipped the volumes into the pockets of his work jacket.

At two o'clock, when he stopped to rest his team, he felt unusually well satisfied with himself.  Instead of allowing ten minutes to go to waste, he opened the history book against a handle of the plow and read half of the first chapter.

In later years Walter's academic associates were struck by his habit of reading, and even writing, while standing up, with his book or paper propped against some handy resting place.  None apparently ever thought of tracing this practice to his boyhood years when he prepared himself for high school entrance examinations while standing in the open fields.

The burden of responsibility was heavy on Walter's young shoulders, but he accepted his lot with stoic calm.  Physical exhaustion had taken something out of his father's life, but when it became evident, however, that his father would be able to carry on in a limited way, Walter, along with others in the family, experienced a surge of reassurance.  However, Walter knew his father never again would be able to do heavy work, nor to direct the operation of the farm.  He had a feeling also that John would soon be going away to school to prepare himself for a career as an educator.  There was Edsell.  But he was a mere infant and couldn't be expected to do much work for quite some time.

What should he do?  What sort of future should he plan?  Of one thing he was certain-the solidarity and loyalty of the family.  From this assurance he drew no end of strength.  He began to feel, in a sort of impersonal way, he was destined to go out into the larger world.

John, Louise, and his mother, in her own casual way, had stimulated such feelings in him.  And now he had begun to do something about it.  He had begun to make up for the time he had had to stay out of school, to prepare himself for entrance into high school.
 
That summer he took another step forward when he decided to start a savings account in Bloomington.  The bumper crop of blackberries in the woods and along the fences spurred him on.  In three evenings, he picked five gallons of the tart, juicy berries.  Then there were odds and ends of old metal he picked up here and there.  He hoped to turn this combination into five dollars to deposit in the Bloomington bank.

His mother sensed what was afoot.  Just before he started for the city, she handed him a pair of old brass candlesticks she wanted to be "rid of." She told him also to take along several bushels of early apples to sell so he might have a little extra pocket money for himself.  As a result he was able to open a savings account with five dollars, buy a geography and a general science book for himself and some toys for his younger brother and sisters.  Moreover, he had a dollar and twenty cents left for future use.

In all, Walter managed to save nearly four hundred dollars before he left the farm.  A large portion of this he obtained indirectly from neighboring farmers in return for special services.  He would not accept money for tending farm animals while their owners were away, nor would he accept cash for hauling produce or livestock to market.  But he would take a baby calf, chickens, eggs, fruit or vegetables, even old metal.  These he would sell and deposit the proceeds.

Neighbors sometimes gave him young animals purely as tokens of affectionate regard.  There was the time, for example, when Aaron Conger, a farmer half a mile south of the Scott farm, came along carrying a goodsized basket.
 "Howdy Walter," said Conger with a good-natured grin.
 "Oh, hello, Mr. Conger.  How are you?  Glad to see you.
 "Look," said Conger, as he raised the basket and folded back the gunny sack.
 "Why, two little pigs!  How old are they?"
 "Let's see, let's see-three days, I guess,' replied Conger.  The farmer paused, then added: "Say, Walter, could you take care of them?"
 "Why, yes, I guess I could.  Suppose I'd have to feed them with an eye dropper-or maybe a baby bottle?"
 "A baby bottle is right.  Their mother died three days ago.

Conger handed Walter the basket with his right hand, a baby bottle and two rubber nipples with his left.

 "You want me to take care of them for you, Mr. Conger?"
 "No, Walter, take care of them for yourself.  They're yours.
  "But I've done nothing to earn them."
 "Yes you have, Walter.  You've done lots.  Everybody likes you.  We're all gonna be proud of you some day."

Conger grinned broadly, gave Walter a pat on the back, and went his way.
 
The two little pigs stirred up momentary excitement on the Scott farm, but by the second day they were taken for granted.  When the pigs were three months old, Walter traded them for a calf.  Later he traded the calf for a colt, turned the colt out to pasture, and kept a watchful eye on it.  He got some pointers on training race horses from a former jockey in Bloomington.  When the colt was a year old, he broke it in and painstakingly trained it to be a fast-stepping, even-paced trotter.  Then he sold the spirited animal in Bloomington for $125.  The money went into his savings account to be used for his education.

In 1883, John, then 16, decided upon teaching as his lifework.  With his parents' approval, John entered the high school, then a part of Illinois State Normal University. John's departure left Walter virtually in charge of the farm.

Occasionally, a migrant laborer was hired, but in the main Walter did the work that previously had been apportioned between the two.  The extremely heavy load was lightened for Walter by the satisfaction he derived from playing an important role in keeping the family properly provided for.  It was lightened also by pride in his brother's progress and above all by a deep assurance that nothing could keep John from being on the alert for opportunities for him, too.

The years passed.  Walter succeeded in making himself eligible for high school.  He attended classes occasionally, but at the rate he was going it seemed he never would obtain a high school diploma.  What was he to do?

Louise was still teaching but probably would be married before long.  Edsell was growing up and soon could be a help on the farm.  The younger sisters were coming along too, but when they grew up they would want to go their own ways.  And what about his parents?  Well, if they sold the farm, they could settle comfortably in town, and if things didn't work out financially for them, the children could always help.

Two years later John entered Northwestern University, but before taking that step he came home for a good many talks with Walter and repeatedly urged him to give up farming as soon as he could without leaving the family stranded.

Walter reached 17, then 18-and he was still on the farm.  More and more he felt that he must decide what he was to do with his life.  He carried on, meanwhile, studying as much as possible, and guiding the youngsters.  He enjoyed listening to Myrtle as she played the organ, took trips to Towanda and Bloomington, attended church regularly, and began to notice attractive girls.
 
Then came the spring of 1888.  John had been away five years.  Walter was 19.  For a half decade he had carried the main responsibility of running the farm.  If he did not make a change soon, it might be too late.

The further John progressed in his studies the stronger became his pleas to Walter to enter the same field.  Prompted by his brother's insistence and his own inner urgings, Walter decided to leave the farm, finish his high school work, and then go on to college to prepare himself for a place in the educational world.  His father approved and so did his mother.

Walter entered Illinois State Normal University in September, 1888.  His first courses were on a high school level.  Many of his classmates were only 14, and Walter found himself five years behind in the educational procession.  With both the older boys away the Scott farm was operated largely with the help of hired hands, although young Edsell did what he could.

Walter remained at Illinois Normal until the close of the 1890-91 school year.  He did take time out, however, to teach four months in a country school near LeRoy, Ill., and for one month at the grade school at Hudson, Ill.  He found the work to his liking and was more eager than ever to pursue education as his career.

He did not have to wait long.  In the spring of 1891 Northwestern University announced competitive examinations for scholarships to Illinois students.  Winners in each senatorial district were to receive free tuition for four years in the College of Liberal Arts, provided they also passed the entrance examinations in Evanston that fall.

Walter entered the competition in Bloomington in McLean County and came out on top.  That summer, in Peoria, 40 miles away, a physician's daughter, who was to become Mrs. Walter Dill Scott, won a similar scholarship in her senatorial district.

When John, then in his senior year, heard the good news, he got Walter to come to Evanston.  In the serene atmosphere of the campus community, John coached his younger brother for 11 weeks, and in September, 1891, Walter easily passed Northwestern's entrance examinations.  Thus, at the age of 22- when many a student would be completing a four-year liberal arts course — Walter Dill Scott was beginning his.