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？”
“Hello， Mr Miller. Fine， thank you. Jus admiring the peas... sure look good.”
“They are good， Barry. How’s your Ma”？
“Fine. stronger all a time.”
“Good. Anything I can help you with？ ”
“No， Sir. Just admiring”the peas.”
“Would you like to take some home？”
“No， Sir. Got nothing”to pay for I’am... ？”
Well， what have you to trade me for some of those peas？”
“WeIl I got is my prize marble here.”
“Is that right” Let me see it.”
“Here’it is. 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 Mr. 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’hem. Now， at last， when Jim could not change his mind about color or size... they came to pay their debt.”
“We’vd not 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.
在经济萎缩的大萧条期间，我住在美国东南部爱达荷州的一个小社区，经常到路边“米勒大哥”的摊子上买一些时鲜的农产品。那个年代食物和金钱的交易很匮乏，实物交换很盛行。
有一天，“米勒大哥”正为我装一袋早熟的马铃薯，我留意到一个小男孩，他有着细巧的骨架和精致的五官，身上的衣服破旧但很干净。他如饥似渴地玩赏着一篮新采摘下来的绿豌豆。我付了马铃薯的钱，同时也挨近那些展示着的新鲜绿豌豆。
奶油豌豆和新鲜的马铃薯一向对我有吸引力。我一边考虑着要不要买豌豆，一边却又在情不自禁地窃听米勒大哥和我身旁那个衣着破旧的男孩之间的对话。
“你好啊，巴里。今天过得好吗？”
“你好，米勒先生。我很好，谢谢。我在欣赏这些豌豆呢，它们看上去真不赖。”
“可新鲜啦。巴里，你妈妈好吗？”
“她很好。身体一天比一天强。”
“太好了。想要点什么吗？”
“不了，先生，谢谢。我只想欣赏一下这些豌豆。”
“想带一些回家吗？”
“不了，先生。我没有钱。”
“那你有没有什么东西拿来和我换些豌豆呢？”
“我身上只有一颗很棒的弹珠。”
“真的吗？让我看看。”
“给，它可是很好的。”
“我看得出来。嗯……只可惜它是蓝色的，我倒是有点想要颗红色的。你家里有一颗像这样的红色弹珠吗？”
“不是十足的红色，但非常接近。”
“这样吧，你先带上这一袋豌豆回家，下次过来的时候让我看看你说的那颗红色的弹珠。”
“一定。谢谢你，米勒先生。”
站在一旁的米勒太太过来帮我的忙。她笑着说：“我们社区里还有两个像他那样的男孩子。他们三个都家境贫寒。吉姆喜欢拿豌豆、苹果、西红柿或者其它别的东西来和他们交换一些东西。当他们带着红色的弹珠过来——他们是从来不爽约的——米勒就会跟他们说他其实并不喜欢红色的弹珠，然后给他们一袋农产品带回家，让他们下次带绿色或橙色的弹珠过来。”
我离开了他们的摊子，暗自欣然，这个男人给我留下了深刻的印象。不久以后，我搬到了犹他州，但我从没忘记这个男人和这些男孩交换实物的故事。
岁月匆匆，转眼几年过去了。最近，我正好有机会拜访住在爱达荷州社区里的一些老朋友。当我到达时，听说米勒先生刚去世了。
社区里的居民准备在当晚去见他最后一面。我知道我的朋友都想去，因此决定和他们一同前往。我们一到达太平间就排起了队，见了死者的亲属，尽量安慰他们。
排在我们前面的是三个年轻人。其中一个穿着陆军服，另外两个留着好看的发型，穿着白衬衫和黑色的套装……一派专业人士的打扮。
他们走近米勒太太，在她丈夫的棺材前微笑而平静地站着。每个青年都拥抱了米勒太太，吻了吻她的脸颊，简单地和她谈了几句，然后走向米勒先生的棺材。
她一直用蓝色的迷蒙泪眼注视着他们。那三个青年挨个在棺材旁边短暂停留，用温暖的手摸了摸棺材里米勒先生冰冷而苍白的手。他们笨拙地擦拭着眼睛，相继离开了太平间。
轮到我们和米勒太太相见了。我告诉她我是谁，并提起她告诉过我的有关弹珠的故事。她眼泛泪光，把我领到棺材前面。
“刚才离开的那三个年轻人就是我当年提到的男孩子。他们刚才告诉我，他们当年是多么感激吉姆跟他们‘交换’的那些食物。现在，吉姆终于再也不能改口说他想要别的颜色、别的尺寸了……他们是来偿还感情债的。”
“我们从来不富有，”米勒太太说，“但倘若吉姆在世，他现在会认为自己是爱达荷州最富有的人。”
她温柔而充满爱意地托起死去的丈夫那毫无生气的手指。在手指下面，放着三颗流光异彩的红色弹珠。