Then Frank turned away, and he heeded not that the man called to him.
The time had come for Frank Merriwell to leave Bloomfield. The old home was gone, and everything was settled at last. He had found a place for Toots, and the colored boy had departed a day in advance.
And now Frank must face the world—he must start on a new career as a breadwinner. He did not hesitate; he was not afraid. Deep within his heart was a confidence that he would win in the battle of life, even though forced to start at the very bottom of the ladder and fight his way upward.
He turned and waved a farewell to his old home. The sun was shining, and never had it seemed so beautiful and so dear before.
“Some time,” he said, “some time I will return and buy the old place back. It shall be mine again.”
In Bloomfield now he was all too well known, and it seemed that nearly all the citizens of the place turned out to bid him farewell at the station. They shook hands with him, old men, young men and boys. Old women cried over him, and some young women kissed him.
Neither Darius Conrad nor his son was there.
The train came and bore Frank away.