There is another thing that a woman fights: she fights rest. Who has
not seen a tired woman work harder and harder, when she was tired,
until she has worn herself to a state of nervous irritability and
finally has to succumb for want of strength? Who has not seen this
same tired woman, the moment she gets back a little grain of
strength, use it up again at once instead of waiting until she had
paid back her principal and could use only the interest of her
strength while keeping a good balance in reserve?
"I wish my mother would not do so many unnecessary things," said an
anxious daughter.
A few days after this the mother came in tired, and, with a fagged
look on her face and a fagged tone in her voice, said: "Before I sit
down I must go and see poor Mrs. Robinson. I have just heard that
she has been taken ill with nervous prostration. Poor thing! Why
couldn't she have taken care of herself?"
"But, mother," her daughter answered, "I have been to see Mrs.
Robinson, and taken her some flowers, and told her how sorry you
would be to hear that she was ill."
"My dear," said the fagged mother with a slight tone of irritation
in her voice, "that was very good of you, but of course that was not
my going, and if I should let to-day pass without going to see her,
when I have just heard of her illness, it would be unfriendly and
unneighborly and I should not forgive myself."
"But, mother, you are tired; you do need to rest so much.
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