"Today More Than Ever We Need To Take this Lesson On Board And Become it!"

Red Marbles
by: Author Unknown

During the waning years of the depression in a small Idaho
community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand
for farm fresh produce as the season made it available.
Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering
was used extensively.

One day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me.
I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged
but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked
green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display
of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and
new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help
overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the
ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them
peas... sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue
and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this
at home?"

"Not zackley ... but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and
next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to
help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys
like him in our community, all three are in very poor
circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for
peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back
with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he
doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a
bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this
man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never
forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous
one. Just recently I had the occasion to visit some old
friends in that Idaho community and while I was there I
learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his
viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I
agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the
relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of
comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men.
One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice
haircuts, dark suits and white shirts... all very
professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling
by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her,
kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved
on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them
as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed
his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was
and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles.
With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to
the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told
you about. They just told me how they appreciated the
things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not
change his mind about color or size ... they came to pay
their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this
world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider
himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of
her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three
exquisitely shined red marbles.