A merchant died in an inn, far from home, leaving a young son who was yet to reach manhood. When the son finally came of age, he set off to claim his father’s property from the innkeeper — but he knew the innkeeper would never give it up willingly.
Approaching the town, the son met a woodcutter by the road and said, “Do me a favor. Carry this bundle of wood to the inn. Set it down inside. If the owner asks, just say, ‘The man who follows me ordered it.’ Then wait for me.”
The woodcutter did exactly as instructed. He arrived at the inn with the wood and waited inside. When the son entered a little later, the innkeeper, seeing the woodcutter there, assumed a prior acquaintance. “Who are you?” he asked the son.
“The son of the merchant who died in your house,” the young man replied quietly.
The innkeeper, rattled — for the wood suggested the son was already known in the town and was not alone — ordered a generous meal. Five pigeons and a chicken came to the table. The host, his wife, two sons, two daughters, and the guest sat down together. “Serve the food,” said the innkeeper.
“You are the master,” said the son. “It is your privilege.”
“No,” insisted the innkeeper, sensing some test. “You are my guest. The merchant’s son. Please, serve the food.”
The son took up the knife. How he divided five pigeons and one chicken among seven mouths, and what truth he exposed by it, is the hinge of the tale — but already, with the wood and the waiting woodcutter, he had made his first wise move: he had announced, without saying a word, that he was not someone who could be cheated.