The happy trilling of birds and the first bright rays of early sunshine drifted in past the curtains, threading through to Ben Cartwright's awakening senses. He opened one eye, then closed it again, rolling over with his back to the window and nestling more firmly into the softness of his bed, as if daring the cheerful morning to make him move before he was ready. He clung to the last filmy tendrils of the dream he'd been having stubbornly, not wanting to lose it just yet. It had been a wonderful dream. A house full of loved ones, including all three of his late wives, and all three of his grown sons; all of them laughing and singing and toasting his health as they delivered one brightly wrapped gift after another into the lap of the birthday celebrant.

Ben sighed and rolled back over onto his back, opening his eyes to study the ceiling above his head. Yes, today was his birthday. That part had not been a dream, but the rest, unfortunately, was only wishful thinking. His wives were nothing more than sweet, precious memories now and the boys had all been away from home for over three weeks, completing various necessary business deals on behalf of the Ponderosa.

Adam and Hoss were due back over the coming weekend, and Joe was supposed to arrive a day or two after that. They had promised their protesting sire a rip-roaring celebration when they got back, to make up for missing his birthday. He had laughingly given his permission, even while assuring them over and over again that such things didn't matter, and that all he wanted was to see them return safe and well, tasks completed. He still did want that, but he was surprised to realize how let down he felt knowing that there would be no celebration today. Sixty years old, a landmark occasion surely, and no loved ones at all to share it with.

He allowed himself to wallow in depression for several minutes, then abruptly commanded, "Oh, stop feeling so sorry for yourself, you old coot!"

Defying his temporary melancholy, as well as his age, Ben sprang out of bed with enough energy for a man of half his years. He moved to the mirror and took a long hard look at himself. The years had treated him rather kindly, he thought. His hair was snow-white, but of course it had been halfway there by the time Little Joe was born, and it had quickly finished turning as he'd lived through the scrapes and schemes of that whirlwind youngest child.

Ben grinned at the memory, then frowned, noticing how deeply the lines etched across his forehead and around the eyes and mouth had become. Then again, wasn't his oldest son well on the way to showing the exact same pattern of lines? More memories; this time of countless hours he and Adam had spent concentratedly poring over ledgers and interesting books together restored his smile. He could not even guess how many of the lines were directly connected to the many hours of joyful laughter all three boys had given him throughout their lives.

Continuing his assessment, Ben turned sideways, smoothing down the front of his nightshirt. His middle had definitely developed a bit of a paunch in recent years, he noticed with a grimace. He made an experimental attempt to suck it in, then glimpsed his reddening face in the glass and laughed. For a moment, the resemblance to his middle son was unusually distinct, and Ben grinned as he thought about all the meals that he had shared with Hoss. There, every man was reduced to making quick feints and jabs at the platters and bowls in an effort to fill his plate before that large middle son could pack away everything on the table. No, he reflected, there was no need to fret about an expanding waistline. As long as Hoss lived on the Ponderosa, the rest of the family would always stay relatively trim!

Feeling considerably lighter hearted, Ben whistled as he set about getting dressed and ready for the day ahead.

"Good morning, Mister Cartwright!"

Hop Sing's cheerful greeting drew a nod and an answering smile from Ben as he descended the stairs. "Good morning, Hop Sing. My, something smells wonderful!"

The little man grinned happily. "Crisp fried bacon, hard-boil egg, butter toast, and fresh coffee," he listed, waving a cup as though tempting his employer forward with the aromatic lure. "Very special favorite breakfast for very special birthday boy."
Ben laughed at being referred to that way, but he felt grateful for the cook's thoughtfulness. "It was very good of you, Hop Sing. I was just thinking that it's too bad the boys aren't here to help me celebrate, but I'm very glad that you are."

"Father miss boys very much," Hop Sing said understandingly, pouring out the coffee and fussing over Ben as he took a chair. "I miss too, very much. Ponderosa too quiet without sons."

With a sigh, Ben nodded his agreement. "It certainly is."

"Boys leave surprise," the Chinese man told him, pointing toward the area that served as Ben's office, off the living room. "Tell Hop Sing mustn't forget to set out gifts for father's birthday."

Eyes widening, half in surprise and half in eager curiosity, Ben craned his neck to see the gifts he had somehow missed on his way down the stairs. His seat in the dining room did not afford a good enough look, so he rose and walked over to see. For once, Hop Sing did not protest someone leaving a meal before it was finished. He simply smiled and followed.

"There are four gifts," Ben said in surprise, picking up a fine vintage bottle of his favorite brandy and eyeing the label in appreciation. He nodded toward the three wrapped packages sitting on the desk.

Hop Sing touched the bottle in his hand and smiled. "From Mr. Adam."

Ben smiled back. He had expected as much.

Hop Sing's hand moved to the largest of the packages on the desk, a long one with a rectangular shape suggesting a picture of some sort. "From Mr. Hoss." He moved to the next one, a small flat box. "From Little Joe."

Ben picked up the small box and turned it curiously in his hand. It hardly weighed anything at all. Had it been from anyone else, he would have thought it to be handkerchiefs, or perhaps a new neck cloth or tie, but it was from Joe. His youngest had a knack for picking unique gifts, so he doubted that the contents were any of those things.

Putting the question, and the little box, aside for a moment, he pointed to the final package. From the shape it had to be a book. "Adam got me two gifts?"

Hop Sing shook his head, his sunny smile growing even wider as he patted his long time employer on the arm and turned back toward the kitchen.

Ben watched him go, astonished as he read the unspoken message in that light touch. Hop Sing, who never participated in family gift-giving ceremonies by his own choice, had got him a present. He put down the brandy and picked the package up, confirming by the feel of it that it was, indeed, a book. Hand poised to tear the wrapping off, he hesitated. Something told him to wait, so he put it back down and reached for Hoss' gift.

The wrappings fell away with the pulling of a few strings and the breaking of two wax seals holding the corners in place. Ben drew in a sharp breath as he looked at the painting underneath. It was a seascape. A wild wind-tossed ocean crashing hard against high sharp rock faces, and in the distance, a tiny clipper-ship bravely riding the waves as she sailed for the shore. He would have thought that such a gift might have come from Adam, the son of sea-faring New Englanders, and lover of artistry in all its forms. To know it came from Hoss was simply astounding.

He studied the scene for a long while, taking in every detail, then reluctantly set it aside to pick up Joe's package again. Pulling the string, he lifted the lid, and frowned, muttering, "What in the world?"

Inside the small box was a set of two ribbons, a red one and a blue one, simple ruffled prize ribbons with pins on the back, such as one might get for placing in a contest during Founder's Day or the Fourth of July.

Ben sat down on the edge of the desk, looking at his gifts with considerable puzzlement. The only one that seemed to make sense was the brandy, and yet Ben knew there had to be something more, something he was missing.

Finally, he moved to the final gift, the one from Hop Sing. This one had no wrapping other than the simple sheet of brown packing paper that hid it from plain view, then ends tucked and folded to keep it from falling open. It was a simple matter to slip one finger beneath the fold and pull the whole thing open. A plain leather-bound journal stared up at him from the open paper. With a glance toward the kitchen, Ben opened the front cover. An envelope slipped out and fell to the floor and Ben knelt to pick it up, recognizing his oldest son's neat handwriting and the words, 'For Pa'.

Setting it aside, he flipped through the first few pages of Hop Sing's gift. Neat, delicate printing, the spellings and grammar not quite exact in places, filled the age-yellowed pages of the book. Ben read a few paragraphs, then read them again in open astonishment. It was a journal of his life, written from the first day he had met Hop Sing, some thirty years earlier. As he scanned ahead, he caught glimpses of memories, times he had shared with Marie, with the boys, and a few that he had even known he had an observer for, all neatly recorded by a silent friend.

Ben rose, intending to go in at once and thank Hop Sing for this marvelous surprise, when he noticed again the envelope that had been inside the cover. He picked it up and slit it open, pulling out a large, stiff piece of paper, folded in two to form a card. The writing was Adam's, but the message was from all three of his boys.
 

'Dear Pa,

Sorry we have to miss your birthday, but we hope these gifts will bring us closer to you on that day.
The bottle of brandy is from Adam, a reminder that no amount of company is as good as the right company. Thank you for teaching us that, and for always being the right company when we needed it.

The painting is from Hoss. You always taught us the good in looking outside of yourself to see the beauty in another person's point of view. Thank you for taking time to appreciate the things we're interested in, even when you really weren't interested in them yourself.

The ribbons are from Joe. You always said that coming in second was no shame if a man tried his best, and that coming in first was only something to be proud of if you won honestly. Thanks for always being there to see us through every test, especially when we failed. Wear the blue ribbon proudly.

Happy Birthday, Pa. We love you.

Adam, Hoss & Joe'

Ben dashed tears from his eyes as he looked at the gifts again with a full heart. He never noticed the return of Hop Sing until the little man was right at his elbow. He looked up, not surprised to see tears sparkling in the other man's almond eyes as well. "Thank you, Hop Sing."

Knowing that the simple words were for far more than a thoughtful gift, the Chinese man bowed formally to his employer. They nodded at one another as he straightened, then Hop Sing briskly clapped his hands together and said, "Come! Have breakfast before everything go cold again."

Carefully setting the gifts neatly together, Ben returned to the table. In response to the cook's inquiry about his plans for the day, he smiled and said, "I think I'll do a little reading."

Beaming his warmest grin, Hop Sing scurried into the kitchen to retrieve the reheated dishes of food. He did not want to keep Mr. Cartwright waiting on this very special day.