Disclaimer: None of the main characters are my creation, but some of the incidents in this story actually occurred. No, I'm not telling which ones.

Feedback: Comments welcome at lwalker@owlcroft.com

A/N: This one's for L.M. Lewis, who keeps us all humble.

"Now, this one is Cleopatra's Needle." McCormick handed Frank the photo. "There was a group there and we took a picture of them, so they took one of us."

Harper nodded. "Looks like Cleo was big into embroidery," he said with a smile.

"Ho, ho," said Judge Hardcastle. He took the photo from the lieutenant and added it to the stack on the coffee table.

"And this one is Parliament," Mark handed another one across to Harper. "Do you realize those buildings are almost a thousand years old?"

"Really? Huh." Frank pulled on his left ear while he studied the picture. "Looks pretty good for something that old."

"Oh, yeah? Well, wait 'til you see . . ." McCormick broke off and thumbed through the photographs in his hand. "Judge, have you been messing around with these? They're out of order."

"Yeah, that's right." Hardcastle smiled at him genially. "I sneak down here at night and shuffle them up just to annoy you."

"Oh, here." Mark stared at the picture in his hand. "This was . . . incredible." He glanced over at the judge. "We were looking for Salisbury because Hardcastle wanted to see the cathedral and I was trying to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road--"

"It wasn't the wrong side, it was the left side. The right side was the wrong side. The left side was the right side," grinned the judge.

McCormick sighed, then cocked his eyebrows at Frank. "Do you have any idea how many times he tried to make that joke while we were over there?"

Harper grinned back at him. "I got an idea, yeah. So what was so incredible?"

"Well, we were looking for Salisbury and we came up over this hill and there it was." Mark got a faraway look in his eyes. "Right in the middle of the plain. It was enormous. It was incredible."

"What was?" Frank shifted impatiently.

"Stonehenge," the judge said quietly, "And it was incredible."

"It was just there, all of a sudden! It's so huge and so old and so . . ." McCormick, unusually, ran out of words.

"Unearthly." Hardcastle nodded once. "That's the word. It looked like something that no human had ever had anything to do with." He reached for the photo in Mark's hand. "They don't let you go right up to it anymore. But you don't have to. It's got a . . . kind of . . . power to it. Oh, I don't know how to say it. You have to be there to feel it. But it is incredible, all right." He finally handed the photo to Harper who looked at it intently.

"So then," said McCormick, with one of his mercurial mood shifts, "Professor Hardcase decides we have to go to Stratford-on-Avon and pretend we've read Shakespeare!"

"Well, how many times are you gonna go to England, anyway? You have to see Stratford," the judge grumped. "It was interesting!"

"It was boring. Especially after something five thousand years old."

Harper jumped in with, "But I thought you were going to Ireland. How many days did you spend in England?"

"Just three." Mark selected the next picture for Frank. "We went through Wales--"

"Beautiful country," Hardcastle interjected.

"We went through Wales to get to Pembroke, where the ferry to Ireland runs. That's the inn where we stayed in Pembroke." McCormick smiled suddenly. "Oh! There's a cute story about that. See, everybody knew we were Yanks as soon as we said anything--"

"Frank doesn't need to hear this. Just give him the next picture, okay?"

McCormick waved a hand at the judge and continued, "So the bartender there looks at Hardcastle when we check in and says, 'Yank, are ye? Did happen to . . .' Oh, forget it. I can't do the accent. So, he says were you in the war over here and Hardcase says yes, and the guy says 'Well, I swore no Yank that helped us out would go without a drink. I'm Cyrus Jones and the next one's on me.'"

"No kidding?" Harper's eyebrows were up. "He bought you a drink because you were in the war?"

The judge nodded. "Yep. Then I bought him one and then he returned the favor and I bet we both slept real good that night. I sure did."

"So, the next day we took the ferry to Rosslare." Mark was searching through the photos again. "Ah. Here's the one I took from the boat. Look how green everything is! Did the judge tell you about all the rain and how Ireland is England's umbrella?"

"Yeah, said Frank, extending a hand. "He told me that about four times before the two of you left." He squinted at the picture. "It sure is green, all right. Is it like that over the whole country?"

"Yep. Pretty much. It rained seven days out of the ten we were there." Hardcastle turned to McCormick. "Show him the one of you in Blackmore with the umbrella you bought."

Mark laughed and he sorted through the package of photographs. "Yeah, it was bright red plaid, but it worked. Here, look."

Harper snorted at the picture of a young man with a goofy expression huddled under a gigantic red plaid umbrella. "You bring that thing back with you? Or did they stop you at customs for the good of the country?"

"Hah! At least I was dry. Hardcastle had to drip through Kilkenny Castle like the ghost of a selkie."

"Oh, yeah. How many castles did you go to? And tell me about the Blarney Stone!" The lieutenant grinned at McCormick, who was searching through the photos again.

The judge snorted. "We only went to eight castles in all, and Castle Blarney was the last one. You wouldn't believe the guide there. He tried to get me to kiss the damned rock. He said, 'It's for the oldsthers loike usth, who've got to kape up with the bhoyos there.' Can you imagine? Me, leaning back and over and down to smooch a rock?"

"Yecch! I wasn't gonna do it!" McCormick held out another photo to Frank. "Here's the judge, looking down over the wall toward it." He grimaced. "I mean, just think about it. Here's this stone that everybody in the world has left their germs on. Give me a break!"

Harper snickered. "Good thing you didn't. I don't think the 'oldster' here could've handled it if you talked any slicker than you do already." He handed the Blarney shot to Hardcastle. "So did you get to Dublin? The Guiness brewery?"

"Oh, yeah." The judge beamed. "It was educational, interesting, and rewarding . . . in every way!"

"Still offering free samples, huh?" Frank shook his head. "I don't know how you can drink that stuff."

"'Guinness is good for you,'" quoted McCormick sententiously. "Here. This is Phoenix Park. After we left there, we headed up toward Northern Ireland. Oh, and that reminds me of a really weird thing that happened." He cocked his eyebrows at the judge. "You wanna tell him while I get refills?"

"Sure." Hardcastle offered up his empty beer glass and rubbed his nose thoughtfully as McCormick headed for the kitchen. "We'd decided not to go to Belfast, just stay in Ireland proper, right? But we thought we'd take the road that skirts the border to see the Iron Mountains and head over to Sligo."

Frank shrugged and said, "Whatever. I have no idea where any of that is, but that's okay."

The judge waved his hands a little. "Not important anyway. So, we're driving through some really pretty country, lots of hedges and trees and little winding roads, two lanes at the most and sometimes not even that. It's a beautiful day, we're having a good time and if we're slightly lost, it's no big deal. Well," he took a deep breath, "we're driving along and go around a curve and there in front of us, in the middle of the road, is a British tank, with its turret pointed right at us."

Frank whistled quietly. "The border?"

"I guess so. The next thing we noticed was a pit dug into the road that would hold an elephant, with spikes sticking up out of the bottom. Thanks," Hardcastle took his re-filled glass from McCormick.

Mark handed Frank his and took up the story. "So, we sat there staring at this tank for a second, then we notice there's a soldier looking down at us and he is not smiling. So, ol' Hardcase here waves at him, and smiles like a baboon and yells out, 'American tourists! No problem!' like that's gonna make the guy happy."

"Well, I didn't notice you making any effort to do anything." The judge took a swallow of beer and set the glass back on the table next to his armchair.

McCormick snickered and said, "I did everything I could, which means I backed up until I could turn around and get out of there. Meanwhile, the judge is waving like a maniac and bobbing his head and smiling and that soldier never blinked, I swear."

"So, we got out the map," Hardcastle took up the story, "and decided maybe it wasn't okay to be slightly lost any more. Anyway, we did get to Sligo, and then went down through the middle toward Limerick and Tipperary, then down past Cork. We kind of zigzagged all over the place. But once we got into the southeast, we found this great little inn in Clonakilty, named the Glendower Arms," the judge paused while Mark passed over three more photographs, "and we ended up staying there for three days. Really nice little place and there was a family of McCormicks living there."

"Oh, yeah?" Harper was studying the photos interestedly. He reached for the next one and looked up at Mark. "Relatives of yours?"

"Nah, probably not. I don't know what part of Ireland my forebears came from." He smiled wickedly at the judge. "But we found some Hardcastles in Sligo and --"

"Well, but this one old guy in Clonakilty," the judge said hurriedly, "named McCormick said he had relatives that had moved to the States and thought they settled on the East Coast. He didn't know much more about them, but we figured that's fairly close. The kid here--" he jerked a thumb at McCormick, "started calling him 'Uncle Brian' and you could see the old boy really liked it."

"So we stayed there for three days, did a little fishing off the coast, met the locals, who were mostly McCormicks," grinned the resident McCormick, "and had a great time. The old guy, Brian, told us stories about the place every night and kept trying to buy a round for us." He handed across two more photos. "That's him and the judge, and him and me. He told us places to go see during the day and where to rent fishing gear from a neighbor of his. He was really quite a guy. We hated to leave, but I promised to send him a card from California." Mark smiled. "He said he was going to put it up on his wall to have a bit of sunshine every day. Here's one of the Glendower Arms, with Uncle Brian sitting out front. That was one of the days it didn't rain."

Harper saw a face filled with wrinkles and a nearly-toothless mouth in a wide grin. "Looks like quite a character. 'Course that makes sense if he's a McCormick." He winked at Mark.

"And here's one of the local lace maker. Oh! That reminds me! Judge?" He looked at Hardcastle meaningfully. "You think it's time?"

"Yeah, why not? You go get the stuff and I'll take over here." He reached for the photo package as Mark stood.

Harper looked up at him curiously. "Where you off to?"

"I just gotta run over to the gatehouse for a minute. We brought back a little souvenir for Claudia and it ended up with my stuff."

"Aw, you guys didn't have to do that." Frank shook his head. "I mean, it's really nice of you, but it wasn't necessary."

Hardcastle made a deprecating face at him and said, "You let us decide what we need to do, okay? Claudia's put up with a lot from us and we saw something we thought she might like, that's all. Now," he picked up the top photo, then paused. "You know that guy, Brian McCormick?" The judge leaned a little closer to the lieutenant. "Don't tell the kid this; he kinda likes to think he might be related to the old guy. But Brian told me all his relatives over here either died out, or moved back to Ireland."

Hardcastle paused again. "But you know what he said? He told me one night 'Shure, it's not bluid that makes a man kin, but what's in the heart, and an old man's thankful to ye for the sharing of yer bhoy.'" Hardcastle shook his head a little and added, "He didn't have a whole lot of relatives left, and I think he was kind of proud of the kid coming over and looking for family. It's like they adopted each other, ya know, so each one could have a little bit of family."

"Sounds familiar," murmured Frank, looking studiously at the photo in his hand.

They both looked toward the hall as the front door banged and McCormick came down the steps into the den carrying two cardboard boxes.

"Here." He handed one to Frank. "You really should let Claudia open it first, 'cause it's her present, but we want to make sure she's gonna like it. So, go on."

Harper cautiously pulled the flaps open on the rectangular box and removed a layer of tissue paper. "Oh, guys," he said softly. "She'll love it."

"Come on, Frank," growled the judge. "You don't even know what it is yet."

Harper shook his head slowly. "Doesn't matter. It's Irish lace and it's beautiful."

"It's a scarf," said McCormick anxiously. "We figured you don't have to know somebody's size to get them a scarf and she can wear it to Mass and stuff." He fidgeted a bit. "You really think she'll like it?"

Frank had the scarf unfolded and was admiring the intricate designs and delicate fabric. "I tell ya what. Next time you come over for dinner, you'll get filet mignon and I'll get meat loaf. This is probably the nicest thing you could've brought her. Thanks, guys." He carefully folded and re-packed the scarf. "You really shouldn't have, but she's gonna love it."

"Well, we also got you a little something." Hardcastle gestured at McCormick. "Hand it over, kiddo."

"Here, Frank. Be careful, it's breakable."

Harper gingerly accepted the box and tentatively opened it. "What the . . . Oh, I don't believe it." He looked at the other two with rounded eyes and an open mouth. "This is . . ."

McCormick grinned at him. "Now you know what it feels like to suddenly see Stonehenge in front of you."

"I'm stunned," said Frank quietly. "This is 16-year-old whiskey. I've never even tasted 16-year-old whiskey."

"It's not just 16-years-old. It's a single malt Irish and it's aged in three different kinds of wood." The judge waved a hand casually. "Hope ya like it."

The lieutenant looked at him. "I guess the only thing I can say is 'thank you', but this is just . . . way too much, guys." He turned to look at McCormick, who was still beaming at him. "Really. It's too much, but thank you. This is just . . ."

"Incredible," supplied Mark with a snicker. "And it reminds me of the Sligo Story."

"Aw, come on," groaned Hardcastle. "We don't have to hear that now. How 'bout you get some peanuts to go with the beer--"

"Oh, no!" McCormick patted the air in the judge's direction. "Frank's gotta hear this. See, we went to Sligo because the judge's great-grandparents lived there before they came over to this country."

Harper had wrenched his attention from the bottle in his hands to Mark and nodded to show he was listening.

The judge groaned again and slid further down into his chair.

"So, he had the idea of going to the town hall and looking over the records to see what he could find out about them and any other Hardcastles still in Sligo." McCormick threw a glance at the judge, who looked at the ceiling in despair and then covered his eyes with his hand.

"Turns out Michael Crawford Hardcastle left Ireland in 1883 because of a horrible scandal and under threat of criminal prosecution." Mark sat back with a satisfied smirk.

"Well?" Frank was grinning himself now. "What 'horrible' thing did he do?"

McCormick lowered his voice and said, "He watered the whiskey in his bar"

"No!" said Frank in a shocked tone. "That bastard!"

"Okay, okay." Hardcastle uncovered his eyes and sat up straight. "Fun's over, boys."

"No, no. There's more," Mark laughed. "When a pub-keeper in Sligo waters a drink, they still call it a Hardcastle!"

Harper roared with laughter at the judge's expression. Then, he suddenly sobered. "Oh, no!" He looked at McCormick in desperation then down at the bottle he still held. "Milt didn't get his hands on this, did he?"