Concepts For Nursing Practice 2nd

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Concepts For Nursing Practice 2nd Edition Giddens Test Bank

Concept 02: Functional Ability

Giddens: Concepts for Nursing Practice, 2nd Edition

MULTIPLE CHOICE

1. The nurse is assessing a patient’s functional ability. Which patient best demonstrates the
definition of functional ability?
a. Considers self as a healthy individual; uses cane for stability
b. College educated; travels frequently; can balance a checkbook
c. Works out daily, reads well, cooks, and cleans house on the weekends
d. Healthy individual, volunteers at church, works part time, takes care of family and
house
ANS: D
Functional ability refers to the individual’s ability to perform the normal daily activities
required to meet basic needs; fulfill usual roles in the family, workplace, and community; and
maintain health and well-being. The other options are good; however, healthy individual,
church volunteer, part time worker, and the patient who takes care of the family and house
fully meets the criteria for functional ability.

REF: Page 13
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Basic Care and Comfort

2. The nurse is assessing a patient’s functional performance. What assessment parameters will be
most important in this assessment?
a. Continence assessment, gait assessment, feeding assessment, dressing assessment,
transfer assessment
b. Height, weight, body mass index (BMI), vital signs assessment
c. Sleep assessment, energy assessment, memory assessment, concentration
assessment
d. Health and well-being, amount of community volunteer time, working outside the
home, and ability to care for family and house
ANS: A
Functional impairment, disability, or handicap refers to varying degrees of an individual’s
inability to perform the tasks required to complete normal life activities without assistance.
Height, weight, BMI, and vital signs are part of a physical assessment. Sleep, energy,
memory, and concentration are part of a depression screening. Healthy, volunteering,
working, and caring for family and house are functional abilities, not performance.

REF: Page 13
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Reduction of Risk Potential

3. The nurse is assessing a patient with a mobility dysfunction and wants to gain insight into the
patient’s functional ability. What question would be the most appropriate?
a. “Are you able to shop for yourself?”
b. “Do you use a cane, walker, or wheelchair to ambulate?”
c. “Do you know what today’s date is?”
d. “Were you sad or depressed more than once in the last 3 days?”

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 ANS: B
“Do you use a cane, walker, or wheelchair to ambulate?” will assist the nurse in determining
the patient’s ability to perform self-care activities. A nutritional health risk assessment is not
the functional assessment. Knowing the date is part of a mental status exam. Assessing
sadness is a question to ask in the depression screening.

REF: Page 14
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Physiological Adaptation

4. The nurse is developing an interdisciplinary plan of care using the Roper-Logan-Tierney

Model of Nursing for a patient who is currently unconscious. Which interventions would be
most critical to developing a plan of care for this patient?
a. Eating and drinking, personal cleansing and dressing, working and playing
b. Toileting, transferring, dressing, and bathing activities
c. Sleeping, expressing sexuality, socializing with peers
d. Maintaining a safe environment, breathing, maintaining temperature
ANS: D
The most critical aspects of care for an unconscious patient are safe environment, breathing,
and temperature. Eating and drinking are contraindicated in unconscious patients. Toileting,
transferring, dressing, and bathing activities are BADLs. Sleeping, expressing sexuality, and
socializing with peers are a part of the Roper-Logan-Tierney Model of Nursing; however,
these are not the most critical for developing the plan of care in an unconscious patient.

REF: Page 14
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Physiological Adaptation

5. The home care nurse is trying to determine the necessary services for a 65-year-old patient
who was admitted to the home care service after left knee replacement. Which tool is the best
for the nurse to utilize?
a. Minimum Data Set (MDS)
b. Functional Status Scale (FSS)
c. 24-Hour Functional Ability Questionnaire (24hFAQ)
d. The Edmonton Functional Assessment Tool
ANS: C
The 24hFAQ assesses the postoperative patient in the home setting. The MDS is for nursing
home patients. The FSS is for children. The Edmonton is for cancer patients.

REF: Page 16 OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Health Promotion and Maintenance

6. The nurse is assessing a patient’s functional abilities and asks the patient, “How would you
rate your ability to prepare a balanced meal?” “How would you rate your ability to balance a
checkbook?” “How would you rate your ability to keep track of your appointments?” Which
tool would be indicated for the best results of this patient’s perception of their abilities?
a. Functional Activities Questionnaire (FAQ)™
b. Mini Mental Status Exam (MMSE)
c. 24hFAQ
d. Performance-based functional measurement
ANS: A
 The FAQ is an example of a self-report tool which provides information about the patient’s
perception of functional ability. The MMSE assesses cognitive impairment. The 24hFAQ is
used to assess functional ability in postoperative patients. Performance-based tools involve
actual observation of a standardized task, completion of which is judged by objective criteria.

REF: Page 16 OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Health Promotion and Maintenance

MULTIPLE RESPONSE

1. A 65-year-old female patient has been admitted to the medical/surgical unit. The nurse is
assessing the patient’s risk for falls so that falls prevention can be implemented if necessary.
Select all the risk factors that apply from this patient's history and physical. (Select all that
apply.)
a. Being a woman
b. Taking more than six medications
c. Having hypertension
d. Having cataracts
e. Muscle strength 3/5 bilaterally
f. Incontinence
ANS: B, D, E, F
Adverse effects of medications can contribute to falls. Cataracts impair vision, which is a risk
factor for falls. Poor muscle strength is a risk factor for falls. Incontinence of urine or stool
increases risk for falls. Men have a higher risk for falls. Hypertension itself does not
contribute to falls. Taking medications to treat hypertension that may lead to hypotension and
dizziness is a fall risk. Dizziness does contribute to falls.

REF: Page 15
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Reduction of Risk Potential

MATCHING

Match the activities listed with the appropriate functional level of ability:
a. for instrumental activities of daily living (IADLs)
b. for basic activities of daily living (BADLs)

1. Uses a cane
2. Bathes daily
3. Takes medications as prescribed
4. Dresses self
5. Balances the checkbook
6. Cleans the house

1. ANS: B REF: Page 14|Page 15

OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Reduction of Risk Potential
2. ANS: B REF: Page 14|Page 15
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Reduction of Risk Potential
3. ANS: A REF: Page 14|Page 15
OBJ: NCLEX® Client Needs Category: Physiological Integrity: Reduction of Risk Potential
4. ANS: B REF: Page 14|Page 15
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couldn’t be found? And so shake hands, and forgive whatever you didn’t
like in my words.”
“Oh, I’ll forgive!” said Miss Scrannage, putting out her toil-worn hand
with just as much pride; “an’ mebbe I hadn’t orter been so quick myself;
but I can’t help it, for I’ve got it from the Scrannage side o’ th’ house,
an’ it’s hard to pull up. Well, now, B’lindy, seein’ all’s comfortable, we
better be a-goin’. We’re goin’ to stay all night, ye know,” she said,
addressing the company, “down to our cousin’s in town; but we got to go
to one or two more o’ th’ shops, an’ then we want to visit some before
supper.”
Mr. King did not dare to interrupt; but he kept fingering his pocket-book
nervously, well concealed as it was. His eyes sought Phronsie’s face and
Polly’s, and finding no encouragement in either, he cleared his throat,
“Hem! well, now, Miss Scrannage, I don’t want to hinder you; but what
sort of a man is this Mr. Babbidge, I believe you said his name was, that
gave the children to you?”
“Oh! he’s a good sort o’ man, ’Biel Babbidge is,” replied Miss Sally,
“dretful poor he is, an’”—
“Poor, is he?” cried old Mr. King with interest.
“Land, yes! never was forehanded; couldn’t be, with that sick wife of
his.”
“Is she sick?” asked Phronsie pityingly.
“Yes; hain’t done a hand’s turn for a year, with rheumatiz, an’ before that
’twas newmony, an’ before that”—
“Poor man!” said Polly; “of course he couldn’t get along, with a sick
wife.”
“That’s so,” assented Miss Sally; “an’ he hain’t got along; has to hire
whatever help he gets in the house. He’s dretful good to his wife; sets a
store by her, an’ treats her jest like a baby. She was a Potter, lived down
to th’”—
“Now, Miss Scrannage,” said old Mr. King desperately, and bringing the
pocket-book out to the surface, “I want to reward somebody for all their
goodness to me and to my family in bringing our children home. Do help
me to do it.”
“You better give it to ’Biel Babbidge, then,” said Miss Sally with a
stiffening in her back, as she looked in his eyes. Then she glanced at her
sister, who straightened herself involuntarily. “Land, yes! he’s dretful
poor, an’ needs it.” She stepped out of her chair with the air of being able
to buy up all Badgertown. “Come, B’lindy, we reelly must be a-goin’. I
thank you for that cup o’ tea, Mis’ King; ’twas reel pa’ticler good, and
you, Miss Phronsie, thank you. Good-day,” with an old-time courtesy to
the company.
Elyot rushed after her. “I’m sorry I said that about the basket,” he cried.
“Now,” said Phronsie, as they all turned back and went slowly over the
lawn, the whole company having escorted the old ladies to their carriage,
the gentlemen vying in their attentions, and David securing the honor of
unhitching Billy, “why cannot we take our driving-party over to
Hingham to-morrow, instead of to the Glen, and see Mr. and Mrs.
Babbidge?”
“And do up the business with them,” finished old Mr. King. “The very
thing, Phronsie,” with a grateful smile at her. “I only wish I could wind
up my debt to that Miss Scrannage as easily,” he groaned.
“O Phronsie!” cried Polly ecstatically; “that’s a lovely plan. Oh, you
dear, for thinking of it!”
And every one of the company thereupon expressed their great delight.
Suddenly Elyot glanced down the road. “Oh, I see papa!” he howled;
“he’s on top of the stage.”
“Well, well, what is the whole family drawn up here in parade for?” cried
Jasper, swinging himself down from Mr. Tisbett’s side. And “O Jasper!
what has brought you so early?” from Polly. And then all the story had to
be gone over and over, with many things interspersed by Elyot and
Barby, who felt that half enough attention had not been paid to the
Beebes, and who clamored for every one to hear what a splendid time
they’d had in the little shop.
“And I sat in the little chair that Aunt Phronsie sat in,” cried Barby.
“Truly I did, papa,” pulling his sleeve.
“Yes, she did,” said Elyot; “the same little wooden chair that Aunt
Phronsie sat in when she got her red-topped shoes; Mr. Beebe said so.
And I had doughnuts—all I wanted.”
Polly viewed him in alarm, while Joel smacked his lips. “We remember
those doughnuts, don’t we, Dave,” poking the college instructor in the
ribs.
And then they all hurried in, Jasper’s arm around Polly, while his
children hung to his hand; for he had brought out a new piece of music
he wanted to try with Polly before dinner.
On the way to the music-room, Joel picked up a little book from one of
the window-niches in the big hall. “Whose is this?” he asked, carelessly
whirling the leaves of a Greek poem.
“That’s Miss Loughead’s, I believe,” said Robert Bingley, who stood
next, and looking over his shoulder.
“Impossible!” exclaimed Joel impulsively. “What, belong to that little
thing! Why, man alive, she never knew enough to understand that there
was such a book.” And then he turned and met Amy Loughead’s blue
eyes.
 CHAPTER XV.
SOME HINGHAM CALLS.
“PHRONSIE,” said Joel desperately, “I can’t take Miss Loughead with
us.”
“O Joey! you promised,” said Phronsie in a grieved way.
“But I can’t do it—do beg off for me some way. Why, it’s impossible for
me to look the girl in the face after what I’ve said. How I could ever
have spoken so, I don’t see,” went on Joel remorsefully.
Phronsie was about to say something; but thinking better of it, she only
smiled comfortingly.
“Do, will you, Phronsie?” begged Joel in a wheedling way.
“I think you ought to take Amy all the more because you did speak so,
Joel,” said Phronsie quietly, “so I cannot speak for you, dear.”
Joel turned off, and ground his boot into the gravel. “All right, Phronsie,”
he said, turning around.
But just here Grandpapa came around the curve in the path. “Phronsie,
you will drive me in your cart,” he said.
“Shall I, Grandpapa?”
“Yes, dear; and tell Johnson to put my bay in.”
“Yes, Grandpapa.” Phronsie looked at Joel. His black eyes said, just as
when a boy he had been delighted at anything, “Oh, goody! now I
sha’n’t have to drive that girl to Hingham.”
Phronsie answered the look by, “O Joel! now it will help to make up for
what you said; as you can take Amy Loughead over alone, and that’ll
show her you are sorry.”
Joel’s face lengthened. “Really, Phronsie?”
“I would,” said Phronsie; then she ran off to get ready.
“Miss Loughead,” said Joel awkwardly, going into the music-room
where she stood alone, turning over some of Polly’s music, “I don’t
know as you’ll go with me—I’m sure I shouldn’t, if the cases were
reversed; but I was to take my sister Phronsie and you on the driving-
party to the Glen yesterday, you know.” He paused, having come to the
length of his chain, and stared helplessly at her.
“Yes,” said Amy.
“Well, now it’s Hingham, instead; and Grandpapa wants Phronsie to go
with him, so it leaves you and me out in the cold,” he said with an
attempt at a laugh.
Amy said nothing, so he had to plunge on. “And if you’ll be willing
under the circumstances to let me drive you, why, I’ll do it,” finished
Joel desperately.
“Do you wish to, Mr. Pepper?” asked Amy, raising a pair of clear blue
eyes to his, “because do not really try to do it—to—make up—for
anything. I’d rather you didn’t,” she said earnestly.
“I do wish it,” said Joel heartily, “if you are willing—that’s the question.
Miss Loughead, I never was so sorry in all my life for anything,” he
declared; and he hung his head, wishing he were small enough to be
whipped, and be done with it.
“Don’t feel distressed about it,” said Amy. “I was a little goose, Mr.
Pepper, in the old days; and I just wasted my time, and I wouldn’t study;
and I worried Polly dreadfully.” It was now her turn to look distressed,
and Joel cried out, “Don’t look so, I beg of you.”
“And you were quite right in believing I couldn’t, or I wouldn’t, study
now,” said Amy. “I don’t blame you, Mr. Pepper.” She put out her hand,
which Joel seized remorsefully.
“Will you go?” he cried eagerly, and hanging to it,—“will you?”
“Yes, I will go,” said Amy Loughead, pulling away her hand, and
smiling brightly.
“Oh, beg pardon!” ejaculated Joel, backing off, “I was thinking it was
Phronsie.” Then in hurried Robert Bingley.
“Miss Loughead, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. May I have the
pleasure of driving you to Hingham this morning?”
“I am going with Mr. Joel Pepper,” said Amy. And Joel heard his friend
Bingley say, “Whew!” and he meant to have it out with him some time
for that.
At last they were off,—Mrs. Higby, shading her eyes with her hand,
watched them from the upper door,—all but Jasper, who went as usual
with the “little publishing bag” to town in the early train. The children
were distributed evenly throughout the party on the drag; Polly and
Grace Tupper, Ben and David were on horseback; and Grandpapa and
Phronsie led off in the dog-cart merrily; while Joel and Amy Loughead
brought up the rear, the interval being filled by a big beach-wagon.
When Robert Bingley found how it was, he clambered into this last,
without a sign on his face that he didn’t choose that place to begin with.
“Well, really,” observed Percy, adjusting his monocle with importance,
“this road looks exactly like all country roads—don’t you know.”
Van, on the back seat with Gladys Ray, grinned. “Astonishing fact,” he
whispered to her. “It’s his monocle that does that.”
“Polly wouldn’t like it to have you make fun of your brother,” she said.
Van colored up to the roots of his light hair. “I’m glad you’re going to be
like Polly, Gladys,” he said, “and keep me straight.”
“Indeed, I’m not going to keep you straight,” she cried with spirit;
“you’ve got to keep yourself straight. But I shall say things that I’ve
heard the Peppers say, for it’s good for you to hear them.”
“Isn’t this fine,” cried David, riding up to the side of the trap—“eh, Joe?
Doesn’t it take you back to the days when we used to race barefoot along
this Hingham road?”
“That it does,” cried Joel, in huge delight, and raised back to his self-
esteem by the quiet poise of the girl beside him, who evidently meant to
take everything as it had been before his cruel and unlucky speech.
“She’s one girl in a thousand for sense and a good heart,” said Joel to
himself many times on the drive. “Nobody else but Polly and Phronsie
could have done it.”
When they reached Hingham, as they did in good time, it was an easy
matter to find Abiel Babbidge’s house. Everybody knew him, and could
tell the old yellow house, run down at the heel, as it were, set back from
the side road. All around it lay one of the New England farms, whose
principal crop seemed to be stones, which, if removed, would leave not
much else. “Good gracious me!” ejaculated old Mr. King, as Phronsie
turned the bay up the scraggly wagon-path to the door.
The whole procession came to a halt. “Phronsie,” said Grandpapa,
“you’d better ask to see Mrs. Babbidge. I’ll tackle him if he is home.”
“Shall I, Grandpapa?” asked Phronsie, getting out.
“Oh, let me!” howled Elyot, trying to spring off from the drag. “I want to
see my nice Mr. Babbidge.”
“And me too,” cried Barby; “let me too!”
King was consumed with envy, and so was Johnny Fargo, because they
had no former acquaintance to plead. “I wouldn’t,” he said, laying a
restraining hand on Elyot’s jacket.
“You let me alone,” cried Elyot crossly, and twitching himself free. “You
don’t know my Mr. Babbidge. Oh, do let me get down!”
“So you shall, dear,” said Polly, riding up to the side of the drag, “and
Barby. Run along now, chickens,” as somebody lifted Barby down and
set her on the ground, “and call your Mr. Babbidge out. We all want to
see him.”
Thereupon King and Johnny screamed for permission to get down,
which being accorded, they whooped off also, and disappeared around
the house in the direction of the dilapidated barn.
Presently Abiel Babbidge appeared, shambling and shamefaced, with
one of the King children hanging to either hand,—the other boys trying
to catch on somewhere, and not succeeding very well.
Polly reined her horse up to his side. “How do you do, Mr. Babbidge?”
she said, putting out her dainty riding-glove. “I am the children’s mother,
and I want to thank you for all the kind care you gave them yesterday.”
“O Moses and Methuselah!” exclaimed Abiel Babbidge, startled out of
any sort of manners; “ye be! Why, I can’t tech ye’re hand with this.” He
extricated one of his horny palms from Barby’s grasp, and held it up to
her.
Polly shook it warmly. “I cannot thank you, Mr. Babbidge, as I want to.
May I see your wife?” and she rode up to the old horse-block and
dismounted.
Abiel Babbidge’s face fell. “My wife is sick,” he said slowly, and
something like a tear fell from his eye. Elyot pulled away his hand, and
looked up in astonishment at him.
“I know she is not well,” said Polly gently; “but I thought perhaps you
would think she could see me and my sister,” taking Phronsie’s hand.
“But not if you do not think best, Mr. Babbidge.”
“Ye may,” said Mr. Babbidge abruptly. “I declar to gracious I sh’d be
glad to have her see ye both. ’Twould bring her right up, mebbe.”
Old Mr. King got slowly out of the dog-cart while Mr. Babbidge was
escorting Polly and Phronsie in. On the top step, Polly turned and said
softly, “Now run away, children, and don’t make a noise under the
window.”
“Oh, we’re going in!” cried Elyot, pushing with all his might to get in
first.
“Mamma says not,” said Polly; and they tumbled back quickly, and
swarmed into the dog-cart to wait with Grandpapa.
In a few minutes out came Mr. Babbidge’s head and shoulders in the
doorway. “They want ye,” he nodded to old Mr. King; who, mightily
pleased to be summoned, wended his way to the steps.
“Somebody come and sit with those youngsters,” he cried, shaking his
walking-stick at the bunch of them in the cart. So Ben got out of the
drag, and ran up just in time to save the bay from getting a smart thwack
from the whip that Johnny Fargo had captured.
“The next boy that gets hold of that whip will tumble out of this cart,”
said Ben decidedly.
Polly sat by the side of the bed in the old bedroom that opened out of the
kitchen, Phronsie stood by the foot, as Abiel Babbidge said to Mr. King,
“There’s my wife, sir,” and pointed to the bed. Under the old patched
bedquilt she lay, propped up by pillows; everything marvellously neat,
but oh, so coarse and poor! She had a smile on her thin face; and her
hand, all drawn up with rheumatism, was extended in simple courtesy of
an old-time pattern.
“Oh! how do you do, madam?” said old Mr. King much shocked, and for
the life of him not knowing what to say.
But Mrs. Babbidge knew no embarrassment. She asked her husband to
get some more chairs from the kitchen and bring in; and when he, big
and awkward, knocked down more things in the carrying out of this
request than he could pause to pick up, she passed it serenely over, and
smiled at him just the same.
Polly felt the tears in her eyes, in spite of all her efforts to keep them out.
“Dear Mrs. Babbidge,” she said gently, “you know a mother who has had
her little children restored to her as I have, and largely through your good
husband’s kindness,”—here Mrs. Babbidge sent a proud glance over at
him, at which he blushed like a girl under his big farmer’s hat he forgot
to take off,—“finds it hard to express her thanks; and so I brought you,
from my husband and from me, a little gift.” Here Polly laid down a
small parcel on the patched bedquilt, and tucked it under one of the
drawn and twisted hands.
“How about the Scrannage ladies?” asked old Mr. King, drawing Abiel
off to a corner; “they’re pretty well off, I expect.”
“They hain’t got much but pride,” said Abiel, shifting from one foot to
another, “but enough o’ that to carry this hull town.”
“Poor, are they?” asked the old gentleman.
“Poor—well I should say so; why, I guess it comes hard on ’em to keep a
cat. But then they’d rather starve themselves than to scrimp her. But
they’re monstrous ginteel.”
“Dear, dear!” said the old gentleman, with great concern.
“Ye see, they’re a-workin’ to pay off that there mortgage the old squire
left; been a-workin’ on’t for twenty year now, an’ mos’ likely they’ll die
a-workin’ on’t; but then ‘we will die a-workin’ on’t,’ as Miss Sally said
to me only t’other day; and bless my buttons, so she will,” declared Mr.
Babbidge, slapping his knee.
“How much is it?” asked old Mr. King.
“Five hundred dollars,” said Abiel.
“Five hundred dollars!” repeated the old gentleman.
“Yes, ’tis, every bit; awful, ain’t it; ’cause they’re wimmen, an’ there
ain’t no way for ’em to arn money, only to make jell.”
“They wouldn’t accept a little gift, you think?” asked the old gentleman
suddenly, “not if she was to give it,” pointing to Polly, “or her sister?”
“Massy sakes—no,” cried Abiel in alarm; “they’d set the dorg on you;
that is, Miss Sally would, if she had a dorg. They wouldn’t take it from
the angel Gabrel.”
Nevertheless, when they went out of the Babbidge household, the old
gentleman had made up his mind to something; and, by the time they
were on the way homeward, he announced to the rest of the procession,
“We are going down to the Scrannage house.”

“There now, it’s done, Grandpapa, dear,” said Phronsie,

tucking the bit of paper under the old door.
And down to the “Scrannage house” they went. There it stood, by the
lilac-bushes, with its flag walk between the rows of ancient box; its blue-
green blinds, and its big-knockered door—just as it had stood in the old
squire’s time, with a mortgage on it.
The whole procession drew up silently. “You all sit still,” commanded
the old gentleman. “Phronsie, you come with me.” So, Ben hopping into
the dog-cart again to hold the bay, the two passed up between the rows of
box, and halted at the blue-green door.
“Now, Phronsie, I want you to help me,” said Grandpapa, “because that
Miss Sally Scrannage is truly awful to deal with. But whether she likes it
or not, child, I’m going to lift that mortgage.”
“O Grandpapa, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Phronsie, the sunlight all in her
eyes.
“So,” said the old gentleman, “get behind the lilac-bush here, child;” and
he took out a paper from his pocket-book that proved to be a check,
filled it out, and handed it to Phronsie. “Now stick it under the door,
Phronsie; the crack’s big enough. And when they get home, and find it,
and that Miss Sally comes for me, I can tell her you did it.”
“I will do it, Grandpapa,” said Phronsie, running off happily, to tuck the
bit of paper under the old door. “There, now, it’s done, Grandpapa dear.
And I am so glad.”
“And now let us get in, and drive off like hot shot,” exclaimed the old
gentleman, hurrying down the path. “I really feel as if I heard Miss Sally
after us now.”
 CHAPTER XVI.
MR. MARLOWE HELPS MATTERS ALONG.
PHRONSIE passed slowly up the path to the little brown house door.
The last of the party of guests at “The Oaks” had just departed. She
turned the key in the lock and went in, picking up, on her way, the
playthings the children had left the afternoon before, strewn on the old
kitchen floor.
Phronsie sat down on a low seat, and leaned her head in Mamsie’s old
rocking-chair. Outside, a little gray squirrel ran up and down the big
apple-tree, and peered in the window chattering loudly; the china basket
of sweetbrier noiselessly dropped a petal now and then on the old kitchen
table, and the clock ticked away busily; and still Phronsie did not move.
“Mamsie,” she was saying softly to herself, “is it very wicked for me to
want to see Roslyn? I will stay with Grandpapa; but oh, I want so to just
see Roslyn.”
And after a long pause she said, “I could not ask Grace all she knows
about him—oh, to think that he is her cousin! because that would not be
right to Grandpapa, who did not want me to see him. But oh! I cannot
help thinking of him; and is it very wicked, Mamsie, just to think of
him?”
Still Phronsie did not move. When she did lift her head, there were no
traces of tears upon her cheek, only her hands were clasped upon her
knee, and a white line settled around the drooping mouth.
“Dear Grandpapa,” she said softly, “he has done everything for us, and
all his comfort is in us. He needs me; and I’ll try again not to think of
Roslyn. But oh, Mamsie!” She laid her head once more upon the old
cushion in the rocking-chair, and kept it there for a long time.
Old Mr. King had gone to town in the early morning train with Jasper.
Having not only a great delight in Mr. Marlowe, so that he seized every
possible opportunity to be with him, Mr. King had absorbed such a
violent pride in the whole publishing business as conducted by Marlowe
and King, that he had become a silent partner, and contributed such a
generous amount of funds as to make possible the great breadth and
extension that had been longed for by its founder.

Phronsie leaned her head upon Mamsie’s old

rocking-chair.

“And I don’t want anything to say about the working of the capital,” the
old gentleman had cried. “Gracious, man alive,” to Mr. Marlowe, “I
don’t know anything about business; and I can trust you, who have
brought it up to this.”
So Mr. King resolutely kept away from all business conferences to which
he was always asked; and he pinched his lips under his white mustache
very tightly together whenever the fit seized him to give advice.
Whenever this was particularly strong upon him, he invariably kept away
from town, working it off by scolding at the editorials in the morning
paper. At other times he would sometimes take an early morning train
with Jasper, and spend hours in wandering over the big establishment, in
which he was a great favorite, and in reading and examining the books
and periodicals turned out; swelling with pride more and more at the
splendid character of the work he saw before him.
Sometimes Phronsie was with him, and often Polly came; and now and
then Elyot or King hung to his hand, and listened to his delighted praise
of the whole thing.
But this day he announced that he was going alone with Jasper. And
when they arrived at the publishing house, he said, in a very different
tone from that he had used on his first visit,—“And what a first-class
fool I was then, to be sure,” he reflected,—“Jasper, my boy, see if Mr.
Marlowe would like to talk with me now. If not, I’ll go up into the
bindery and see that new machine.”
Mr. Marlowe wasn’t ready to see him, being, as on the former occasion,
occupied with a gentleman who had made the appointment for that hour;
so Mr. King did go up into the bindery, whereat all the working-people
looked up with a smile, as the old gentleman made them his courtliest
bow.
“Father,” cried Jasper, springing up the stairs two at a time, “Mr.
Marlowe is ready now. He is dreadfully sorry to keep you waiting so
long, but it couldn’t be helped. Mr. Strong did not get through, but
lapped over on the agent of the new paper company, who had an
appointment.”
“Say no more, my boy,” cried his father. “I don’t mind waiting a half-
hour. I’ve nothing special to do, and it’s pleasant up here.”
“A half-hour?” repeated Jasper, taking out his watch. “You’ve been up
here just three hours, father!”
“To be sure,” cried the old gentleman, glancing at it, and then whipping
out his own, when he burst out laughing, and took Jasper’s arm, and
went down-stairs.
“I move that we all three go out to luncheon,” said Mr. Marlowe, as they
came into his small private office. “What do you say, Mr. King?”
“Yes, yes, to be sure; a good plan,” assented the old gentleman, who
always said “yes” nowadays to everything Mr. Marlowe proposed.
“And we can begin our talk there, and finish it here,” said the publisher,
putting down his desk-cover.
“Now, Jasper, my boy,” said old Mr. King, when the three were together
in a quiet corner at the restaurant, “I’m going to say something that will
perhaps make you feel badly a bit.”
Jasper put up his hand involuntarily.
“It won’t make a thing come a minute the sooner for talking of it,” said
the old gentleman cheerily; “but I’m not going to live forever, and that’s
a fact. I never should have lasted half so long if it hadn’t been for you,
my boy,” laying his hand across the little table on Jasper’s, who grasped
it eagerly, “and for those blessed Peppers. And, dear me, I mean to go
right straight on living a long while yet,” he added, with a glance at
Jasper’s pale face. “But I want a good talk with both of you to-day. I
don’t mind saying that a certain thing troubles me, and I want to get it off
my mind.”
Mr. Marlowe said nothing, his clear-cut face quietly turned to the old
gentleman, waiting for him to proceed.
“There’s no man living, Marlowe, that I’d ask advice from sooner than
you,” said Mr. King; “and that you know.”
A bright smile shot over the publisher’s face, lighting up the keen gray
eyes with a world of affection. “I know,” he said simply.
“It’s about Phronsie,” said old Mr. King brokenly, and his handsome
white head drooped.
“Don’t, father,” began Jasper, dreadfully distressed; “Phronsie wouldn’t
want you to feel badly.”
“I would let your father speak what is on his mind, Jasper,” said Mr.
Marlowe quietly.
“She—she—oh, you know it already,” said the old gentleman with
difficulty, “formed an attachment with a young sculptor when we were
last abroad. I introduced them myself. He’s General May’s nephew,
working in Rome; got a high degree of talent, and all that. But, oh,
Phronsie!”
Mr. Marlowe’s imperturbable countenance gave no hint to any onlooker
that anything but the most ordinary conversation was in progress; the
other two sitting with their faces to the wall.
“And now that precious child is really and absolutely in love with that
man,” said Mr. King in a subdued but dreadful voice. “I didn’t believe it
until I saw her face the other night when little Grace said he was her
cousin. Marlowe, what can I do?” He grasped the strong right hand lying
on the table.
“Mr. King,” said the publisher, with a lightning-like gleam in the gray
eyes, “I can only tell you certain ways of looking at the matter that seem
right to me. You may not like what I say.”
“You will say it all the same,” said the old gentleman grimly.
“I shall say it all the same,” said Mr. Marlowe.
“That’s what I like you for,” broke in Mr. King. “Why, if I hadn’t wanted
the truth, I wouldn’t have come to you, man.” He leaned forward, and
gazed into the clear gray eyes.
“You approve of Roslyn May as a man?” asked Mr. Marlowe.
“Dear me, yes. Why, if I hadn’t, do you suppose I would have introduced
him to Phronsie,” cried the old gentleman, somewhat irately.
“Certainly not. Now, what is there that you disapprove of in him?” asked
the publisher.
“Nothing; that is, the young fellow is all right, I suppose, only—why
Phronsie is a mere child yet. She’s my little one!”
“Miss Phronsie is twenty years old,” said Mr. Marlowe.
“Bless me, why so she is!” exclaimed Mr. King. And then, as if a wholly
new idea had struck him, he kept repeating to himself at intervals as the
waiter brought the luncheon, “Phronsie is twenty years old. Phronsie is
twenty years old!”
“It doesn’t seem a day since that child sent me her gingerbread boy,” he
said aloud, when the meal was half over.
“I suppose so. That’s a way time has of treating us all,” said Mr.
Marlowe. “Well, I am glad you broached this subject, Mr. King; and
now, with your permission, we will finish it when we get back to my
office.”
Jasper shot him a grateful glance; and quite easy in his mind about his
father, now that the ice was really broken, and the dreaded subject open
for future discussion, he gave a sigh of relief as he saw the countenance
of the old gentleman lighten.
“I take it, Mr. King,” observed Mr. Marlowe, when they were once more
in the little private office with orders for no callers to be admitted, “that
Phronsie’s welfare is what you are most concerned about?”
“Yes, yes,” cried the old gentleman; “it is, Marlowe.”
“Then, that is really the only thing for us to consider in this conversation.
You admit that you believe Phronsie to be deeply in love with this young
sculptor?”
Old Mr. King whirled abruptly around on Jasper, “What say you,
Jasper?” he cried. “Perhaps she isn’t,” with a sudden hope that Jasper
might confirm this. But Jasper looked him steadily in the eyes. “You are
right, father. Phronsie has loved him ever since you brought her home, I
believe.”
The old gentleman groaned aloud, and caught at the table for support.
“And it is only her love for you,” said Jasper, seeing in Mr. Marlowe’s
eyes the counsel that the whole of the truth had better be spoken, “that
has made her able not to show it.”
Old Mr. King got out of his chair, and took as many turns around the
small room as its space would allow, fuming like a caged animal.
“And what do you want me to do about it, Marlowe?” he demanded
presently, stopping short in front of that gentleman’s office-chair.
“I do not want, nor advise anything,” said Mr. Marlowe calmly.
“Well, what do you think I ought to do,” he fumed—“that’s the same
thing. Come, speak out and be done with it, man.”
For answer, Mr. Marlowe turned to his desk full of papers. “I’ve talked
enough,” he said with his bright smile. “Think it out for yourself, King;
you’ll do the right thing.” And he put out his strong hand kindly. The old
gentleman grasped it without a word, and hung to it a moment, then
clapped on his hat. “I won’t wait for you, Jasper,” he said. “I’m going
home.”
“Don’t you want me to go with you, father?” cried Jasper with a glance
at Mr. Marlowe.
“You can go just as well as not,” said that gentleman; “there is nothing
pressing this afternoon.”
“No, no,” said the old gentleman imperiously; “I’ll go by myself. Good-
day, Marlowe.”
“Jasper,” said his friend, as the tall, stately figure passed rapidly out
down the long salesroom, “don’t be troubled,” glancing into Jasper’s
overcast face; “it is better as it is. Let him think it out by himself. And
believe me, my boy, the greatest kindness one can do your father, is to
prevent him from being untrue to himself.”
“I know it,” said Jasper; “but, O Mr. Marlowe! you do know, because
you’ve seen it, how he just worships Phronsie. We all do for that matter;
but father—well, that’s different. She’s just everything to him.”
“And that’s just the very reason he wants to show her that he is worthy of
it,” said the publisher gravely; “and no one must point it out to him. He
must travel that way alone, till he can think only of her good. And he’ll
do it.”
 CHAPTER XVII.
ALEXIA HAS GRACE TO HERSELF.
“WELL, if I’m not glad to get you here!” cried Alexia that same
morning, dragging Grace into the front doorway of “The Pumpkin.”
“Now you shall make me such a visit! Dear me, won’t we have good
times together,” making all sorts of wild plans in her mind on the spot, to
atone for any former coldness.
“I can’t stay but two days,” cried Grace in alarm. “I’m to go back to ‘The
Oaks’ then.”
“Nonsense! Why, it would take you two days to see that blessed child
alone. You’ve no idea how he’s grown this last week,” said Alexia.
“Hadn’t I better see him now?” asked Grace, feeling it unsafe to put off
such a wonderful sight any longer.
“That you had!” exclaimed Alexia, delighted at such enthusiasm. “Come
right up into the nursery this very minute, Grace.”
So the two ran up the winding stairs into the tiny box of a room called
the nursery. There on the floor, sprawling after a red rubber ball, was
Algernon. His mother seized him, and covered his round red face with
kisses. “The blessed, precious baby!” she cried.
“Ar-goo-goo-goo!” screamed Algernon in a passion, and kicking
fearfully.
“See how he tries to talk—how he does talk!” cried Alexia, whirling
around with him till his arms and legs appeared to Grace like so many
spokes to a wheel in rapid motion. “Oh, my dear! So he should tell his
old mother all about it. Grace, isn’t he perfectly wonderful?”
“He is a baby,” said Grace, saying the first thing that came into her mind.
“I knew you’d say so when you came to see him,” declared Alexia, with
a triumphant flush on her sallow face. “That isn’t half he can do, either.”
She set Algernon on the floor, and dropped there herself, regardless of
her elaborate morning-dress. “Crawl over mummy, now,” she
commanded.
But Algernon preferred to crawl just the other way, after his ball.
“That’s just it!” cried Alexia delightedly. “Now, you see he’s not to be
led. He’s going to think for himself. Oh, I expect great things from that
boy, Grace!”
A placid-looking woman in a big stiff white cap sat by the window
sewing.
“Now, there’s Bonny,” said Alexia, still sitting on the floor, and looking
over at her, “she’s thoroughly commonplace, and can’t rise to the
superiority of that blessed child. And strange to say, Grace, his father
can’t either. But I can; oh, you dear!” with that she caught Algernon by
one of his fat little legs, and drew him to her. And then ensued a wild
screaming on Algernon’s part, and a petting on Alexia’s, Grace backing
off to the door, feeling that the room was too small for so much action.
“Now I’m going to have a talk with you, Grace,” said Alexia presently,
and hanging tightly to her baby, “come,” in one of the lulls when
Algernon paused to take breath, “let’s go into your room.”
“Can we talk with the baby?” asked Grace with wide eyes.
“Nonsense; yes, indeed! Algernon loves to hear conversation, and he
really understands a good deal,” said Alexia, tucking her “blessed child”
under one arm, and going off. “This is your room, right next, so you can
hear his dear little voice the first thing in the morning. Oh, you darling!”
stopping to kiss Algernon. Then she ran with him into Grace’s small
apartment room, and dumped him into the middle of the bed. “Now,
then, Grace, he’s all right. Come in, dear, this is your room.”
“Will he stay there?” asked Grace fearfully.
“Dear me, yes,” said Alexia; “he’s so very sensible. And I’m going to sit
this side to make it absolutely sure. Well, now, Grace, take off your
bonnet, and come here. I want to ask you something.”
Grace took off her bonnet, and came round by the side of the bed.
“Sit on the foot there, will you,” said Alexia.
“That’s a dear. Well, now, Grace, do tell me about Roslyn May. I’ve been
dying to know, and couldn’t get a chance with all this swarm of company
around our ears, ever since you said he was your cousin the other night.
How did that ever happen?”
“Why, he was born so,” said Grace.