The Marble King
Children's Story
Charlie Baker was thrilled. He'd just been given a bag of marbles from his grandmother. It wasn't his birthday or anything, but his Gran always brought some little gift whenever she came to visit. Mostly it was a few sweets, or a little book, and once it was a yo-yo, but this bag of marbles was the best present yet.
There just happened to be a marble craze in the playground at school at the moment, and Charlie had been saving his pocket money to buy some marbles of his own.
He spent all weekend playing with his marbles, rolling them along the carpet, out in the yard, round objects, through tunnels, under obstacles. He discovered he had what his father called "an eye", which meant he was accurate and could hit another marble from several feet away.
On Monday morning Charlie began to challenge other marble owners in the playground. He began to win. Each time he won, he collected a marble from the loser. By mid-morning playtime, his little bag was full to overflowing. By lunchtime, his right trouser pocket was bulging with marbles. By the time he went home, his left trouser pocket was bulging, too.
Charlie spent the evening sorting his marbles. He sorted them into sizes and colours. He put his favourite marbles in a box in his bedroom, and just kept what he called "the duds" to use next day.
At school in the morning he set the duds to work. Even using duds, he found he could win every match. He also found he couldn't think of anything else. Throughout the day he dreamed of marbles, and again he went home with his pockets and his little bag all bulging.
By the end of the week, Charlie had so many marbles he couldn't count them all. His room had several large boxes stacked on top of each other, all full of marbles. And in the evenings, Charlie would lift out handfuls of marbles and let them run through his fingers, just for the feel of them. But best of all, at school he became famous as The Marble King. Younger children would gaze at him in awe, and whisper to each other, "That's Charlie Baker, the Marble King!" and Charlie would bestow a generous smile on them, or nod in their direction.
But just one little problem arose. By now, Charlie had won nearly all the marbles owned by other children, so there was hardly anyone left to play with him. "Give us a few of yours," begged David, his best friend. "Then I'll give you a game. I haven't any left." But Charlie shook his head. He'd won the marbles fairly, and he wasn't about to give them away. They were his by right. He'd worked for them. David shrugged and drifted off.
Charlie approached different groups of children, but it was always the same story, "Sorry, Charlie, we've no marbles left." And as suddenly as it had come, the marble craze was over. Charlie noticed all the other children were already intent on collecting and swapping the little plastic figures from cereal packets.
Reluctantly, Charlie decided he'd better put his marbles away, and begin collecting. Next morning he took a plastic Spice Girl into school. "Who wants to swap with me?" he shouted.
But to his horror, all the children turned away. "Go away, Charlie Baker," they cried, "we don't want you around."
Charlie was left all by himself. Nobody wanted to know him, nobody would play with him. And when they had a test that afternoon in class, Charlie discovered he knew nothing. He'd been so rapt in his marbles, he hadn't learned a thing all fortnight. Charlie came bottom of the class, and his self-esteem sank very low indeed.
Charlie was miserable. He had boxes and boxes of beautiful marbles, he was still the Marble King, but marbles were useless without friends. He realised that people, especially friends, are more important than things, even marbles.
Next day, Charlie persuaded his mother to drive him to school. He took with him every box of marbles, not keeping any back. At school, he opened the boxes in the playground and poured out all the marbles. "Take them," he cried. "They're free."
And with that, he felt free himself, for the first time for several weeks. And happily, before long, his friendships were re-established and Charlie was content once more.
There just happened to be a marble craze in the playground at school at the moment, and Charlie had been saving his pocket money to buy some marbles of his own.
He spent all weekend playing with his marbles, rolling them along the carpet, out in the yard, round objects, through tunnels, under obstacles. He discovered he had what his father called "an eye", which meant he was accurate and could hit another marble from several feet away.
On Monday morning Charlie began to challenge other marble owners in the playground. He began to win. Each time he won, he collected a marble from the loser. By mid-morning playtime, his little bag was full to overflowing. By lunchtime, his right trouser pocket was bulging with marbles. By the time he went home, his left trouser pocket was bulging, too.
Charlie spent the evening sorting his marbles. He sorted them into sizes and colours. He put his favourite marbles in a box in his bedroom, and just kept what he called "the duds" to use next day.
At school in the morning he set the duds to work. Even using duds, he found he could win every match. He also found he couldn't think of anything else. Throughout the day he dreamed of marbles, and again he went home with his pockets and his little bag all bulging.
By the end of the week, Charlie had so many marbles he couldn't count them all. His room had several large boxes stacked on top of each other, all full of marbles. And in the evenings, Charlie would lift out handfuls of marbles and let them run through his fingers, just for the feel of them. But best of all, at school he became famous as The Marble King. Younger children would gaze at him in awe, and whisper to each other, "That's Charlie Baker, the Marble King!" and Charlie would bestow a generous smile on them, or nod in their direction.
But just one little problem arose. By now, Charlie had won nearly all the marbles owned by other children, so there was hardly anyone left to play with him. "Give us a few of yours," begged David, his best friend. "Then I'll give you a game. I haven't any left." But Charlie shook his head. He'd won the marbles fairly, and he wasn't about to give them away. They were his by right. He'd worked for them. David shrugged and drifted off.
Charlie approached different groups of children, but it was always the same story, "Sorry, Charlie, we've no marbles left." And as suddenly as it had come, the marble craze was over. Charlie noticed all the other children were already intent on collecting and swapping the little plastic figures from cereal packets.
Reluctantly, Charlie decided he'd better put his marbles away, and begin collecting. Next morning he took a plastic Spice Girl into school. "Who wants to swap with me?" he shouted.
But to his horror, all the children turned away. "Go away, Charlie Baker," they cried, "we don't want you around."
Charlie was left all by himself. Nobody wanted to know him, nobody would play with him. And when they had a test that afternoon in class, Charlie discovered he knew nothing. He'd been so rapt in his marbles, he hadn't learned a thing all fortnight. Charlie came bottom of the class, and his self-esteem sank very low indeed.
Charlie was miserable. He had boxes and boxes of beautiful marbles, he was still the Marble King, but marbles were useless without friends. He realised that people, especially friends, are more important than things, even marbles.
Next day, Charlie persuaded his mother to drive him to school. He took with him every box of marbles, not keeping any back. At school, he opened the boxes in the playground and poured out all the marbles. "Take them," he cried. "They're free."
And with that, he felt free himself, for the first time for several weeks. And happily, before long, his friendships were re-established and Charlie was content once more.
