During the waning years of the Depression in a small southeastern Idaho community, I used to stop 
by Brother 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 particular day Brother 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 Brother Miller and the ragged boy next to me. 

"Hello Barry, how are you today?" 

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' the 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. Hmmmm, 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 Utah 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 occasion to visit some
old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Brother Miller had died. 

They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany
them. Upon our 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...very professional looking. 

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, 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. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led me to the casket. 

"Those three young men that 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,
magnificently shiny, red marbles. 

Author Unknown