The Three Marbles
A timeless story of service and kindness, shared by William Peterson in the Ensign, October 1975
. During the waning years of the depression in a small southeastern Idaho community, I used to stop at Brother Miller’s roadside stand for farm-fresh produce, as the seasons made the produce available. Food and money were still extremely scarce, and barter was used extensively. One particular day, as 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. Upon paying for my potatoes, I prepared to leave, but ws drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t hep overhearing the conversation between Brother Miller and the ragged boy next to me.
“Hello, Barry. How are you today?”
“Hello, Mr. Miller, I am fine, thank you. I was just admiring those peas. They sure look good.”
“They are good, Barry. How is your mother?”
“She is fine, and getting stronger all the time.”
“That is good. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, sir. I was just admiring those peas.”
“Would you like to take some home?”
“No sir, because I have nothing to pay for them with.”
“Well, what do you have that you could trade me for some of those peas?”
“All I have is my prize aggie marble, the best taw around.”
“Is that right? Let me take a look at it.”
“Here it is. She’s a dandy.”
“I can see that. The only thing is, this aggie is blue. I sort of like red aggies. Do you have a red one like this at home?”
“Not exactly, but very close.”
“I will tell you what. You take that sack of peas home with you, and the next trip you make this way, let me look at that red taw.”
“I sure will, Mr. Miller. Thanks so much.”
. Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, overhearing this conversation as well, came over to help me. With a sly smile, she said, “There are two other boys just like Barry in our community. All three of them live in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever is in season. When they come back, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red marbles after all and sends them home with another sack of produce for a green marble or an orange marble, or some other color.” I left the produce stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Utah, but never forgot the story of this man and the boys with whom he bartered and bargained.
. Several years went by, each more rapidly than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in the Idaho community and, while we were there, leaned that Brother Miller had recently died. The viewing was to be held 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 the line were three young men. One was in an army uniform, and the other two had short haircuts, dark suits, white shirts, and looked very much like returned LDS missionaries. The three of them stood some time at the casket. The widow, Sister Miller, watched as each young man stood at the casket, and one by one, each young man placed a warm hand over the pale cold hand in the casket, and then left the mortuary, notably wiping tears from their eyes. As our turn came to visit with Sister 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. “This is an amazing coincidence.” she said. “Those three young men that just left were the boys I told you about all those years ago. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them. Now at last, when Jim could not change his mind about the color or size of the marbles, they have come to pay their final debt. We have 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 magnificent, shiny red marbles.
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