'I cannot do it.'" "Like George Washington," said Mary, suddenly catching the last words of Miss Jones's sentence.
"He was like many famous characters in history, I used to think.

Once I remember reading about Oliver Cromwell...

'Where is that dog?
Hamlet! Hamlet! Perhaps he's gone after the sheep.

Ah! there he is! Hamlet, you naughty dog!'" They were approaching one of their favourite pieces of country--Mellot Wood.

Here, on the wood's edge, the ground broke away, running down in a field of corn to a little green valley with clustered trees that showed only their heads, so thickly embedded were they, and beyond the valley the sea.