“After the war” it is to be hoped that the soldiers who have worked so long at one labor--that of war--may be given a period of compensatory play, doing nothing, before being replaced in the hive of industry. Let them enjoy the breezes and the perfume of idleness for a little time; the reaction from that rest will send them back into the workshops with renewed desire for activity. If the world has to get along with less for a few weeks, that will not hurt the world. In the years to come there will be more rest and recreation in America. In Europe there is going to be some degree of fatigue after this war, and America can easily hold her own if she carries a lower steam-pressure. The idle hours are sometimes as valuable as those that are spent in labor. It is in so-called idle hours that we meditate, get acquainted with ourselves, build air castles, which are working-plans for our edifice of the future. Day dreams are good. I had a day dream during my life, and it was really the working-plan for the future I am building now. I wanted to get back something I had lost, and I have got it back. You wonder what it was? I do not mind telling you. In a former life I went far along the road towards mastership. Then once upon a time I slipped back a long way. My day dream was to recover that lost ground, and I have recovered much of it out here. If I had not left the world with that day dream vivid in my consciousness, I should not have made the progress and the recovery I have made. I was talking the other day with an old friend--a very dear old friend--who came out here a year or two ago, and she and I agreed that the day dreams we had dreamed together were among the most valuable products of our recent life. She is revelling in the recovery of her own lost ground, and she will run me a good race as the years go on. Yes, one can race across recovered ground of adeptship. My friend said laughingly the other day that she had made more plans since coming out here than she could execute in a long while. “Take your time,” I advised, “in the execution. You have all eternity.” She looked at me in the old way I remember so well, and said: “Time may be made for slaves, but eternity is made for masters.” She too is glad that she came out. She had done one kind of work long enough, and is now enjoying another. Is she helping me, you wonder? Well, no, unless you count the pleasure of our renewed association as a help. Why should she help me, or I her? Our work is our own. You in the world should help each other when you can; but out here we of equal stature help each other by _being_. That is a good help, though, the being together sometimes.