For a fortnight things ran smoothly¹ in the Good-Conduct Club. It seemed to work admirably. Not once was Jem Blythe called in as umpire. Not once did any of the manse children set the Glen gossips by the ears. As for their minor² peccadilloes³ at home, they kept sharp tabs on each other and gamely underwent their self-imposed punishment—generally a voluntary absence from some gay Friday night frolic in Rainbow Valley, or a sojourn⁴ in bed on some spring evening when all young bones ached to be out and away. Faith, for whispering in Sunday School, condemned⁵ herself to pass a whole day without speaking a single word, unless it was absolutely necessary, and accomplished⁶ it. It was rather unfortunate that Mr. Baker⁷ from over-harbour should have chosen that evening for calling at the manse, and that Faith should have happened to go to the door. Not one word did she reply to his genial⁸ greeting, but went silently away to call her father briefly⁹. Mr. Baker was slightly offended and told his wife when he went home that that the biggest Meredith girl seemed a very shy, sulky little thing, without manners enough to speak when she was spoken to. But nothing worse came of it, and generally their penances¹⁰ did no harm to themselves or anybody else. All of them were beginning to feel quite cocksure that after all, it was a very easy matter to bring yourself up.