For three nights did the Bishop sleep in the lair and Arabella in her cabin. A grey scrub grew on the Bishop’s chin, and during the daytime he instructed George solemnly and heavily as he delivered himself of his invariable confirmation address,--(on the second day he baptised George in the creek, and Arabella was delighted to be his god-mother)--with an eager pride as he told him of the Skitish Isles where his diocese and the seat of the Empire lay. The United Kingdom, he said, consisted of four countries, Fatland, Smugland, Bareland, and Snales, but only Fatland mattered, because the Fattish absorbed the best of the Smugs and the Barish and the Snelsh and found jobs for the cleverest of them in Bondon or Buntown, which was the greatest city in the world. He assured George that he might go down on his knees and thank God--now that he was baptised--for having been born a Fattishman, and that if they ever returned to Bondon he would receive a reward for having added to the Skitish Empire. George knew all about the Emperor-King and his family, and liked the idea of giving his island as a present. He asked the Bishop if he thought the Emperor-King would give him Arabella. “That,” said the Bishop, “does not rest with the Emperor-King.” “But I want her,” answered George. Thereafter the Bishop was careful never to leave his daughter alone, so that at last she protested and said she found Mr. Samways very interesting and was perfectly able to take care of herself. So she was, and next time George kissed her she gave him a motherly caress in return and he was more than satisfied; he was in an ecstasy of happiness and danced to please her and showed her all the little tricks he had invented to while away the tedium of his solitude, as lying on his back with a great stone on his feet and kicking it into the air, and walking on his knees with his feet in his hands, and thrusting his toe into his mouth. He was downcast when she asked him not to repeat some of his tricks.