Red Marbles

(from my inbox this morning)

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed
a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
apprising 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 (the store owner) and
the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They 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?" asked Mr. Miller.

"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" said Miller.

"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?" the store owner
asked.

"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". Mr. Miller told the boy.

"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
orangeone, when they come on their next trip to the store."

I left the store 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 for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just
recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho
community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having hisvisitation 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 reminded her
of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about
her husband's bartering for 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.