"The army! the army! What army?" asked Mr. Shackelford, dismayed.
"The Union army."
The father staggered as if a knife had pierced his heart. He threw out his hands wildly, and then pressed them to his breast and gasped: "Fred, Fred, you don't mean it!"
"I was never more in earnest in my life."
Mr. Shackelford's feelings underwent a sudden change. His face became purple with rage; love for his son was forgotten.
"Do that," he thundered, "do that, and you are no son of mine. I will disown you, I will cast you out, I will curse you."
"Father," said Fred, in a low tremulous voice, "if part we must, do not let us part in anger. Never have I loved you better than now; you do what you believe to be right; I do what I believe to be right. We both perform our duty as we see it. God will hold the one who blunders blameless. Let us then part in peace."
Mr. Shackelford, with white, drawn face, pointed to the door, and uttered the one word, "Go!"
"Oh, father, father, do not send me away with a curse. See, father," and he turned to his mother's portrait which hung on the wall, "mother is looking down on us; mother, who loved us both so well. How can you account to her that you have turned away her only son with a curse, and for no crime, but the one of loving his country."
"Boy, boy, have you no mercy that you will not only break my heart, but tear it out by the roots."