The Red Marble

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 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 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 that 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 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.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.



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GOOD FISHING.


ERNEST
"I LIVE FOR THE THUMP"

Dagnabit Ernest how can I read the rest of my fishing reports with tears in my eyes.Good story though.

I agree Ernest that was a gtreat story. I rminds me of my grandpa that is past. He had a produce stand out in East Texas and was the same way. Good story and thank for bringing back the memories.

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David

Sniff sniff great story gave me chills and goose bumps you know the good kind

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Travis
"Lets Go Fishing!!"

were's the tissue,, good story Ernest

Durn your hide, Ernest, how am I supposed to concentrate of fishin' after reading that?!?! Great story. Thanks.

Running low on tissue...good ole T.P. will have to do.

Thanks Ernest

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John N.

[This message has been edited by Z71 (edited 06-25-2003).]

I have to admit, grown men do cry. Thanks Ernest. See ya in the morning.

Brad

Great story Ernest...

Thanks Earnest, sometimes we forget what it really is supposed to be all about.
Ron

Nice reminder of the past people I've repected and the lil' things I've learned since childhood. Thanks.......

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tight lines......

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[This message has been edited by txnitro (edited 06-26-2003).]

[This message has been edited by txnitro (edited 06-26-2003).]

very good story

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  Shawn
  www.[censored]

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