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on the roof ? Hear that? . . . Surely that was not the scratching of a mouse; it must certainly be the pawing of Dancer or Prancer . . . Stop breathing! . . . Listen! . . . Beyond a doubt that was not the snap of the kitchen fire, but Santa finishing the molasses cookies and milk left for him.

And then after what seemed like an eternity of restless sleep, the great morning was finally upon us. “ Oh, look, I always wanted a red sleigh like this one!”

“A bigger, rosier apple never existed than the one in the toe of this stocking!”

“Look, Mom, where would Santa ever find a truck as big and fast as this one?”

“Hey, Dad! This new flashlight will shine right to the ceiling!”

Surely there are no moments of