"Johnson brought it; has gone on now to Ashlands with it; says the city's in a perfect furor of delight But you, it seems, care nothing about it," Arthur concluded with a malignant sneer.
"Not a word of rejoicing over this glorious victory"—cried Enna angrily.
"Of seven thousand over seventy-five?"
"If I were papa, I'd turn you out of the house;" she exclaimed still more hotly.
"Walter, I have no patience with you," said his father. "To think that son of mine should turn against his own country!" he added, with a groan.
"No, father, I could never do that," Walter answered with emotion.
"It looks very much like it—the utter indifference with which you receive this glorious news!" cried Mrs. Dinsmore with flashing eyes. "I'm positively ashamed of you."
"No, mother, not with indifference, far from it; for it inaugurates a war that will drench the land with blood."
"Nonsense! the North will never fight. A race of shop-keepers fighting for a sentiment, poh! But come to breakfast, there's the bell."
"Better," says Solomon, "is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith." The luxurious breakfast at Roselands was partaken of with very little enjoyment that morning; by Walter especially, who had to bear contempt and ridicule; threats also: he was called a Yankee, coward, poltroon, traitor; and threatened with disinheritance and denouncement unless he would declare himself for the Confederacy and enlist in its army.