He was calling for help when he realized that he had fallen asleep in his ambush.  He peered forth to see if he had snared Santa Claus.

The figure-4 trap was erect and intact, but empty.  He crawled out and ran to the row of stockings he had hung on the mantelpiece as a decoy.

The stockings were empty.

With a shriek of disappointed rage, Ulie dashed into his parents’ room to protest.

Their bed was empty.

He ran through the house, stumbled down stairs and into the back parlor.  His father was snoring on a mattress of Yuletide parcels.  His mother was curled up on a divan under the smoking piano lamp.  Her hands were clutching strands of gold cord and her hair was pillowed in pink tissue paper.  She was burbling in her sleep.

Little Ulie bent down to hear what she was saying.  He made out faintly;

“Mishing you a Werry Muschris and a Nappy Hoosier.”