Brother Miller's Roadside Stand

During the waning years of the depression in a small South eastern
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 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 Brother 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.  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.  A head 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.

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

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