any sensation, especially if colored by fear. Fear adds to
the waste matter of fatigue little driblets of adrenalin and other
secretions which must somehow be eliminated before equilibrium is
reestablished. This creates a vicious circle. We are tired, hence we
are discouraged. We are discouraged, hence we are more tired. This
kind of "tire" is a chemical condition, but it is produced not by work
but by an emotion. He who learns to take his fatigue philosophically,
as a natural and harmless phenomenon which will soon disappear if
ignored, is likely to find himself possessed of exceptional strength.
We can stand almost any amount of work, provided we do not multiply it
by worry. We can even stand a good deal of real anxiety provided it is
not turned in on ourselves and directed toward our own health.

="Decent Hygienic Conditions."= If fatigue products cannot pile up,
why is extra rest ever needed? Because there is a limit to the supply
of fuel. If the fat-supply stored away for such emergencies finally
becomes low, we may need an extra dose of sleeping and eating in order
to let the reservoirs fill again. But this never takes very long. The
body soon fills in its reserves if it has anything like common-sense
care. The doctrine of reserve energy does not warrant a careless
burning of the candle at both ends. It presupposes "decent hygienic
conditions,"--eight hours in bed, three square meals a day, and a fair
amount of fresh air and exercise.

="Over There."= On the other hand, the stories that floated back to us
from the war zone illustrate in the most powerful way what the human
body can do when necessity forbids the slightest attention to its
needs. One of the best of these stories is Dorothy Canfield's account
of Dr. Girard-Mangin, "France's Fighting Woman Doctor." Better than
any abstract discussion of human endurance is this vibrant narrative
of that little woman, "not very strong, slightly built, with some
serious constitutional weakness," who lived through hardships and
accomplished feats of daring which would have been considered beyond
the range of possibility--before the war.

Think of her out there in her leaky makeshift hospital with her twenty
crude helpers and her hundreds of mortally sick typhoid patients; four
hundred and seventy days of continuous service with no place to
sleep--when there was a chance--except a freezing, wind-swept attic in
a deserted village. Think of her in the midst of that terribl