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crying. Finally, Jackson’s first wife and children renounced him and his lack of courage. They went back east to Boston. His second wife stayed on, but I don’t know if she forgave him. They’d had four children together already.” Grand Alice chuckled. “They never had another after that. But that’s where we come from, all of us Foleys.”
    “What happened to the Washington family?” Carole asked.
    “No one knows, honey. No one knows.”
    Everyone sat silently for a little while, thinking about the story Grand Alice had told, and then Christina rose.
    “Thank you for the story,” she said to Grand Alice. “Thank you for the cobbler and the marshmallows, Mrs. Foley. It’s late. I have to go home.”
    Louise walked her to the door and Carole tagged along behind. They waved as Christina drove her snowmobile away. Louise yawned.
    “I’m tired too,” Carole admitted.
    “I didn’t say I was tired,” Louise said a little crossly. She yawned again. “But I guess I am. I guess it’s time for bed.”
    Carole was very ready to go to sleep. She gladly said good night to everyone in the living room, washed up, and crawled beneath the blankets of her bed in the guest room. She’d had a long day traveling and her family had given her a lot to think about.
    She remembered Uncle John’s kind welcome and the love and warmth that seemed to pour from Aunt Lily. She thought of Grand Alice’s bright eyes, rich voice, and fascinating stories. Then she thought of Aunt Jessie, and the way she seemed to hold herself away from Carole, and Louise, who was friendly to Christina and Jessie but not to Carole. Worst of all, she thought about her own great-great-great-great grandfather, Jackson Washington/Foley, who had betrayed his own wife and children.
    What kind of family is this? Carole thought. She had come here hoping—no, expecting—to find out great things about her past. The runaway slave in her background was supposed to have been a hero, not a traitor. The story of Jackson Foley surprised and upset her; she felt shocked and disappointed. Were all of her ancestors like him?
    “There must have been plenty of good people too,” she murmured to herself. Her mind was a whirl. There was no use keeping herself awake. Tomorrow she could learn more. She settled herself more firmly into her pillows and soon, the long day catching up with her, she fell asleep.

“S NOWBALL , COME HERE ,” Lisa called in what she hoped was a voice of authority.
Horses
listened to her when she spoke like that. She patted the kitchen floor beside her. Snowball looked at her, arched his back, and scampered away.
    Stevie laughed. “See, I told you,” she said.
    Lisa sighed. “He doesn’t change.” It was Wednesday afternoon, the day after Carole left, and she and Stevie were in the Hansons’ kitchen feeding Snowball and playing with him. Lisa tried again. “Snowball, go to Stevie,” she commanded. Snowball came up to Lisa and leaned his head against her knee. “He was certainly well named,” Lisa said, stroking his coal-black fur. “He’s as opposite as he can be.”
    “I wish a name for No-Name would come as easily,” Stevie commented.
    Lisa smiled sympathetically. “We’ll come up with something. I wonder how Carole’s doing,” she mused. “Too bad she missed the vacation Pony Club meeting. I thought all that stuff about bandages was really interesting, didn’t you?”
    “Yeah. I’ve wrapped most of them before, except for the tail bandage. But it always helps to go over things again.” Stevie laughed. “And I don’t think I quite got the hang of the tail bandage. Poor No-Name! Did you see the look she gave me, when I was fumbling around with her tail? What a mess!”
    “But at least you can braid tails. Tail bandages don’t do me any good—the braid’s so bad there’s no reason to try to protect it.”
    “Braiding takes practice,” Stevie said, remembering her own messy first attempts.
    “Remember how long it