begin to see how trifles connect themselves with one another, and seem
in the end to have led to a reason and a meaning, though we may not
be clever enough to see it clearly. Nothing is an accident. We make
everything happen ourselves: the wrong things because we do not know
or care whether we are wrong or right, the right ones because we
unconsciously or consciously choose the right even in the midst of our
ignorance.

I dare say it sounds audacious for an ordinary girl to say such things
in an ordinary way; but perhaps I have said them in spite of myself,
because it is not a bad thing that they should be said by an every-day
sort of person in simple words which other every-day people can
understand. I am only expressing what has gradually grown into belief in
my mind through reading with Angus ancient books and modern ones--books
about faiths and religions, books about philosophies and magics, books
about what the world calls marvels, but which are not marvels at all,
but only workings of the Law most people have not yet reasoned about or
even accepted.

Angus had read and studied them all his life before he began to read
them with me, and we talked them over together sitting by the fire in
the library, fascinated and staring at each other, I in one high-backed
chair and he in another on the opposite side of the hearth. Angus is
wonderful--wonderful! He KNOWS there is no such thing as chance.
He KNOWS that we ourselves are the working of the Law--and that we
ourselves could work what now are stupidly called "miracles" if we could
only remember always what the Law is.

What I intended to say at first was merely that it was not by chance
that I climbed to the shelf in the library that afternoon and pushed