manly, and they make you look the other way, at the Big
Penny and the Baby's Palace. She was the most celebrated baby of the
Gardens, and lived in the palace all alone, with ever so many dolls, so
people rang the bell, and up she got out of her bed, though it was past
six o'clock, and she lighted a candle and opened the door in her nighty,
and then they all cried with great rejoicings, "Hail, Queen of England!"
What puzzled David most was how she knew where the matches were kept.
The Big Penny is a statue about her.

Next we come to the Hump, which is the part of the Broad Walk where all
the big races are run, and even though you had no intention of running
you do run when you come to the Hump, it is such a fascinating,
slide-down kind of place. Often you stop when you have run about
half-way down it, and then you are lost, but there is another little
wooden house near here, called the Lost House, and so you tell the man
that you are lost and then he finds you. It is glorious fun racing down
the Hump, but you can't do it on windy days because then you are not
there, but the fallen leaves do it instead of you. There is almost
nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a fallen leaf.

From the Hump we can see the gate that is called after Miss Mabel Grey,
the Fig I promised to tell you about. There were always two nurses with
her, or else one mother and one nurse, and for a long time she was a
pattern-child who always coughed off the table and said, "How do you
do?" to the other Figs, and the only game she played at was flinging a
ball gracefully and letting the nurse bring it back to her. Then one
day she tired of it all and went mad-dog, and, first, to show that she
really was mad-dog, she unloosened both her boot-laces and put out her
tongue east, west, north, and south. She then flung her sash into a
puddle and danced on it till dirty water was squirted over her frock,
after which she climbed the fence and had a series of incredible
adventures, one of the least of which was that she kicked off both her
boots. At last she came to the gate that is now called after her, out of
which she ran into streets David and I have never been in though we have
heard them roaring, and still she ran on and would never again have been
heard of had not her mother jumped into a bus and thus overtaken her.
It all happened, I should say, long ago, and this is not the Mabel Grey
whom David knows.

Returning up the Broad Walk we have on