Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

“Yes! What is it?”
“Hist, boy! Jump up and dress.”
“Oh, it’s you, father!” said the newly aroused sleeper, slipping out of bed—or, rather, off his bed, for the heat of an Eastern China night had made him dispense with bedclothes.
He made a frantic dash at his trousers, feeling confused and strange in the darkness, and hardly knowing whether he was dreaming or awake, as he whispered:
“Is anything the matter?”
There was no reply, and the lad became conscious of the fact that his father had passed out of the room after awakening him.
Dressing in the darkness is not pleasant. Buttons have a habit of making for the wrong holes, socks and collars and ties of slipping off the bedside chair and hiding underneath anywhere; while if it is very dark, elbows come in contact with pieces of furniture, and the back of the hair-brush is liable to come rap against the skull, instead of the yielding, bristly front.
Stanley Lynn went through divers experiences of this kind as he hurried on his clothes, wondering what was the matter the while, and coming to the conclusion that Uncle Jeff must have been taken ill and wanted the doctor.
The lad had just come to this decision when a faint click told him that the door had been reopened—proof of which came in the shape of a whisper:
“Dressed, boy?”
“Yes, father. Is Uncle Jeff ill?”