The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon will be there. The children are nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums dance in their heads. And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, have just settled down for a long winter's nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.