Frank Merriwell's First Job; Or, At the Foot of the Ladder

by Burt L. Standish

Toward evening Frank walked out to the village cemetery that lay on the hillside. The sun was letting fall its slanting rays on the marble shafts and white tombstones. Below the hill was a small, pretty lake.

Hat in hand, Frank Merriwell stood beside his mother’s grave, which was marked by a beautiful slender marble shaft, at the apex of which was a pure white dove.

The grave was well kept, as Frank had instructed that it should be. All the grass had been neatly trimmed by a lawn-mower, and the flowers of early autumn were growing there.

A long, long time the young man stood with his head bowed by the grave. His thoughts were of the tenderest and saddest nature. Once again he, a little boy, was standing beside the chair of his dear, sweet-faced mother, and he seemed to feel her arm about him, while he laid his head against her shoulder. How plainly he saw her as she looked fondly into his eyes and told him one of the many stories that he begged her to tell over and over, day after day. Not one of these stories but had a moral and taught a lesson, and yet they were so skillfully constructed and so beautifully told that they were his delight. He realized that with the aid of these little stories she had helped shape his future character, for they had taught him patience, perseverance, truthfulness, honesty, kindness and forgiveness.

He thought it all over now as he stood there in the last rays of the setting sun, and his heart swelled with gratitude and love for that mother of whom he had been so proud and who had been so proud of him. He knew that her whole life had been pure and tender and patient, and her memory was an inspiration.

The tears dimmed his eyes and ran down his cheeks, but on his face was a look of mingled sadness and happiness. Oh, it was good to have such a mother to remember.

Down by the grave he knelt, and he prayed to his mother in heaven. He felt that she was looking down on him and blessing him. He knew her spirit would hover near him and guide him. She had been an angel on earth, and it did not seem that she could be any purer now that she was an angel in heaven.

At last he rose. There had been a pain in his heart, but it was gone; there had been a sadness in his soul, but it was gone. He felt calm and at peace with all the world. From the grave he plucked a few sprigs, and with them in his hand he turned away.

The sun had set, and purple twilight lay in the valleys. Far across the meadows cows were lowing, while the boy, driving them homeward, whistled a merry strain. It seemed that there was nothing but peace and tranquillity in all the world.

Along the road came a horseman at a canter. Frank paid little notice to him till he was near, and then, happening to look at the person, he saw it was Dyke Conrad.