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."