At length Sir George, the merest bubble of nature, awoke, and pushed him from him.
The child got up at once, but only to stand by the bed-side.

He said no word, did not even think an impatient thought, yet his father seemed to feel that he was waiting for him.

After two or three huge yawns, he spread out his arms, but, unable to stretch himself, yawned again, rolled himself off the bed, and crept feebly across the room to an empty chest that stood under the skylight.
There he seated himself, and for half an hour sat motionless, a perfect type of dilapidation, moral and physical, while a little way off stood Gibbie, looking on, like one awaiting a resurrection.

At length he seemed to come to himself--the expected sign of which was that he reached down his hand towards the meeting of roof and floor, and took up a tiny last with a half-made boot upon it.

At sight of it in his father's hands, Gibbie clapped his with delight--an old delight, renewed every Sunday since he could remember.