"And now that I have them, how am I to decide? That is the question?" The speaker was a fine-looking man about thirty-five years of age, seated before a large writing-table in a handsomely appointed library. It was littered with catalogues, pamphlets, letters and papers sent from dozens of schools, and from the quantity of them one would fancy that every school in the country was represented. This was the result of an advertisement in the "Times" for a school in which young children are received, carefully trained, thoroughly taught, and which can furnish unquestionable references regarding its social standing and other qualifications. It was a handsome, but seriously perplexed, face which bent over the letters, and more than once the shapely hand was raised to the puckered forehead and the fingers thrust impatiently through the golden brown hair, setting it on end and causing its owner to look more distracted than ever. "Poor, wee lassie, you little realize what a problem you are to me. Would to God the one best qualified to solve it could have been spared to you," and the handsome head fell forward upon the hands, as tears of bitter anguish flooded the brown eyes.
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Gabrielle E. Jackson wrote this popular book that continues to be widely read today despite its age.
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