Once upon a time years and years ago in Baghdad there lived a porter called
Sinbad. As he was passing a palace one day, he saw a bench in the great
doorway and thought he would rest on it. So he put down his load, and was
about to sit down when curiosity got the better of him and, slipping through
the entrance he went into the gardens. To Sinbad it was like heaven.
Everywhere there were flower beds, gushing fountains and palm trees, in
whose shade many gentlemen were strolling. while pages served them with cakes
and drinks. Sinbad couldn't help exclaiming aloud:
"Well I never! Here I am, worked to the bone, poor and always hungry while
other lucky men never carry burdens, but enjoy good food and drink. And yet,
we're all Allah's sons! What a world of difference between me and the people
who live here." Sinbad had barely stopped speaking when one of the pages came
across to him and said:
"Come with me. My master wishes to speak to you." Rather alarmed, Sinbad
followed the lad into a hall where the owner of the house was seated amongst
his guests.
"Come in," he said. "What's your name?"
"Sinbad, the Porter."
