THE DAY I first moved into the hotel where I am now staying, I noticed a little blond girl in the halls. She seemed lively enough but was pale and thin almost to emaciation.

As the days passed I noticed that she spent a great deal of time in Babe’s—the landlady’s—apartment, and that Babe was busy—and happy—in making her a great many new clothes and buying her shoes and stockings, etc. Gradually I learned that her name was Billie, that she and her mother Pat had come to the hotel but a few weeks before; that Pat, the mother, was but nineteen years old and very shiftless and unstable and unreliable. One glance at Pat, when I met her, seemed to bear out all that had been said of her.

I found that she “chased the streets” most of the night and slept a great part of the day, leaving little Billie to get along as best she might. When they first came here she would open their door in the morning and let little Billie out in the hall, with nothing but a rag pinned around her that served as a night dress. There was usually a bottle of milk in the room, but no attempt made to see that it was fresh and wholesome. Pushed out in the hall alone, there was little for the child to do, so she naturally went in the open door of the landlady’s apartment.

Babe has had no children of her own, but she loves them and couldn’t turn away from this helpless mite’s plight. She took her in and fed her, and started in at once to see that she had proper clothing. Little Billie responded to this expression of loving care, and in two or three weeks began to blossom like a flower. She adores Babe, and it is beautiful to see the simple childish faith she has that Babe will provide all that she needs. Babe is now far more her real mother than Pat.

Billie has naturally a very sweet disposition, but her mother had spoiled her and she was inclined to be whiney, etc. Babe has many duties, of course, and could not permit Billie to cry and fuss all the time. So she has taught her to overcome those mean little habits and to obey her—when she stays with her. One morning, when I was there, Billie began to cry that she wanted a plate for her marbles, but none of us could understand what she said. Babe said to her, “Billie you have nothing to cry about. Stop it right now. Tell me or ask me for what you want and I will give it to you, if I can.”

The little face cleared up at once, and smiled and said, “I want a plate for my marbles.” Babe answered, “Is that all you say when you want something?” Quickly Billie added, “Please, Babe.” Of course the dish was forthcoming at once. A few days later, Billie came running into my room with a new dress on and everything to match. I said, “What a pretty dress, Billie! Where did you get it? And those nice shoes?”

She smiled and said, “Babe gived them to me. Babe says I just have to tell her what I want or like, and she’ll get it.”

She had practically no playthings when she came here, but that did not stop her from having a very happy time. She would take one or two of the most ordinary objects, like spools of thread, and they would become whatever she wished them to be. One day she took Babe’s thimble and put it on the middle finger of her right hand, and it became her “baby girl.” One of the tenants noticed her putting the thimble on the bed and covering it. This woman said to her, “Is your little girl sick?” That puzzled Billie, to whom sickness was evidently a new idea. The woman went on and said, “You had better get the doctor. He will make her well.”

At that Billie smiled, and danced out into the hall and stood a few minutes; then came quietly back. I had been watching her, and said, “Did you see the doctor? Where is he—out in the hall?” She came and leaned against me and said, “Why, he is everywhere, don’t you know that?” I immediately said, “Of course, Billie, but what did the doctor say about your little girl?” She looked around and lowered her voice a bit as she said, “He said she was all right; there isn’t anything the matter; just let her rest. And now He is resting here,” I said, “That is fine, Billie. You do what the doctor said.” She lingered at my side a moment, then said, “You know the doctor what’s resting her, don’t you?” This was the second time she had looked confidently at me and said, “You know, don’t you?” Of course I said that I knew the Doctor.

After that she fell into the habit of coming up to my room nearly every day. She would play with whatever I gave her, but she liked the Bible most. I tried to give her magazines with pictures, but she would push them away and say, “I want the book.” She would stand by the bed for a long time, just turning the leaves carefully. I am not much of a singer, but one day while she was here and I was busy I started to sing, “There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus; no not one.” That is all that I remember of the song. Billie dropped her playthings at once, and said, “Now that is singing. Sing it some more.”

Sometime after this Billie began to complain of a hurt in her head. She was taken to a doctor. This was during the period when I was working at the maternity home, so I did not hear of it till later. The doctor said she must have her tonsils and adenoids removed at once. Babe and two or three others in the hotel raised the money for the operation. Pat who had completely ignored the child before, became very solicitous for a few days. The second night after the operation Babe had to go out in the evening and asked Pat to come in and stay with Billie. She was very gracious and willing about it at first, but after Babe had gone and while I was sitting talking to the child, some man phoned and wanted Pat to go out. I heard her say, “Oh, gee, I can’t; I have to stay with the kid. Babe would have to go somewhere just when I had a chance for a date.” When she came back where we were, she was very pouty, sullen and sharp with Billie.

The next morning she took Billie to the home of a friend and left her. Some weeks later Billie came back to spend a day in the hotel, and it seemed as if all of Babe’s training had been undone. She spoke to Pat about it and Pat was rather surly, but took Billie away from the friend and left her with another woman who cares for children.

We all missed Billie very much, but tried to think she was receiving better care than her mother gave her. About ten days ago, I heard a little commotion in the hall and on opening my door saw Billie standing there dressed in cowboy costume, like so many of the children were then wearing in anticipation of the Fourth.

I was so happy to see her, and I said, “Why Billie, where have you been? I missed you so much.” She climbed onto my lap and put her little arms around my neck and said, “Why I’ve been here all the time, every day.”

Without stopping to think, I said, “Why, no you haven’t, Billie. You’ve been away a long time. Haven’t you been staying at some lady’s house way off from here?”

“Oh, yes,” Billie answered, “I stayed with Betty Jones, but I lived here all the time. Every day I was in Babe’s room, and up here, and I rode my bicycle in the hall.”

She looked straight into my eyes as though seeking to know whether I would dispute her claim. I said, “Oh, I see. Of course you were here.”

Not quite satisfied, she said, “I did stayed at Betty’s and lived here, didn’t I?”

I realized at once what had happened, and I said, “I think you lived here Billie. But what did you do where you stayed? Were there other children there?”

She told me there were some girls there, and one boy named Dukie, who was a very nice little boy. She said she played some with them, but she was here too, and that once she brought Dukie with her. I asked her what I was doing when she came to see me, and she said that sometimes I was writing and sometimes I was reading, and one day I was lying down on the bed and had the light on in the daytime. As the last is not true to my knowledge, I wondered if she might have come in consciousness at noon some time, because she added, “It was such a nice light.” Then she went on to say that sometimes she came and I wasn’t here at all, but some days the door was way open and she walked right in. It was only since she went away that the heat became so intense in my little room here that I had to keep my door open.

I asked her what else I did when she came, and after a minute she said that one day I put a pretty dress on that had beads in the front, and walked right down stairs to Babe’s, and she went with me. One day while she was gone I remembered taking out a dinner gown which had grown too tight for me—the last time I tried to wear it. By mistake I put it on backwards and to my surprise noticed that it fit me better that way, and looked better, as it is just what is being worn right now, built up to the neck line and a little lower in the back. And I did walk down to Babe’s apartment and asked her if she could see what I had done to my dress.

Then I questioned her as to what Babe was doing when she, Billie, lived here while staying at Betty’s. First she said, “Oh lots of things.” Then she smiled and said, “One night I was here, and she was all alone down stairs, and was almost wanting to cry, and I sat on her lap till she felt better, then I went away. But Babe said when I got down, “I wish Pat would bring Billie back.”

Then she danced around and laughed happily, and said, “And then pretty soon Pat did, and I came here like now.”

“Because Babe wanted you so much?” I asked. “Yes, and cause I wanted her so much,” she answered.

This of course is how she gave me the lesson in the law of manifesting.

The next afternoon I took her down town with me. We passed a shoe store that had a display of sandals in the window. These seemed to excite and fascinate her. She danced up and down and said, “Look! Look at those without any toes in them. That’s the kind they wear.” I said, “Who, Billie; the little girls where you stayed?”

“No, No. I mean they—the little girls and everybody where I go.” I let her stand and admire them a few minutes, then took her hand to go on; but after a few steps ahead she asked if she could go back and look. I went back with her and she gazed at them quite a while, and then asked me if people here wore that kind and if I thought she could have some without any toes in them. I said that if Babe knew she wanted sandals, perhaps she could have some.

“Sandals,” she said, “Yes that’s what they are.” It was several minutes before she came back to what was around her in the street.

Billie has been with me many hours everyday since then. Late in the afternoon a few days ago, I saw that she was tired from much playing, and I took her on my lap where I was sitting by the window which overlooks a downtown street. We did not say anything for quite a while; then Billie looked up at me and said, “You haven’t any little girls here have you?”

When I said no, she smiled, and said, “But you have a little boy there, where I go, ’cause I’ve seen him.” I tried to find out more about this little boy, for I have never had any children; but I did have a little brother who died in infancy. Evidently she couldn’t remember much about him, or didn’t want to talk, for all I could get was that he was “a nice little boy.”

Then after a pause, she said, “You have mans there too—one, two, three, five; I don’t know how many.”

I asked her if she knew their names or what they looked like, and how she knew they were mine, as she said. She shook her head, and then said, “I just know they are yours, but I can’t remember any more now but just one. He is an old man and he is nice just like you, and he likes me and holds me sometimes just like this. They all call him—” Here she stopped and it seemed an effort to remember for a moment, and then she laughed so happily, and said, “Oh I know. It’s Uncle Lew!”

I must have gasped, for she turned quickly in my arms, and said, “What’s the matter. You know him, don’t you?”

My father’s name was Lewis, and all the children in the town called him Uncle Lew. I said, “Yes, dear, I know him, but I think I called him Daddy.” She sighed and said she guessed I did. Then she snuggled closer and said, “You and I know lots of nice things, don’t we; only we don’t talk about them much.”

With that she closed her eyes and went to sleep in my arms.

This seems a fitting place to stop but I can’t refrain from another incident. Billie had been in Pat’s room in the early evening, but Pat had gone out and left her. She became sleepy and started to undress, but could find no pajamas. She came into Babe’s apartment. Babe gave her a little ice cream, and then said, “Come on Billie, it is time to go to bed. Come let me put on your pajamas. I bought you new ones today.”

“I knowed it,” was Billie’s reply. “How did you know it?” Babe asked her.

Billie just smiled and said, “Well I couldn’t find any in there, so I just knowed you’d have some for me.”