When he woke, it was pitch dark, and he was not lying on his father's bosom, He felt about with his hands till he found his father's head.

Then he got up and tried to rouse him, and failing to get him on to the bed.

But in that too he was sadly unsuccessful: what with the darkness and the weight of him, the result of the boy's best endeavour was, that Sir George half slipped, half rolled down upon the box, and from that to the floor.
Assured then of his own helplessness, wee Gibbie dragged the miserable bolster from the bed, and got it under his father's head; then covered him with the plaid, and creeping under it, laid himself on his father's bosom, where soon he slept again.
He woke very cold, and getting up, turned heels-over-head several times to warm himself, but quietly, for his father was still asleep.
The room was no longer dark, for the moon was shining through the skylight.

When he had got himself a little warmer, he turned to have a look at his father.

The pale light shone full upon his face, and it was that, Gibbie thought, which made him look so strange.