The Nine-Star Inn… or… there is more than one way to…

A comment on Facebook, questioning a grammatically oriented play on words, reminded me of an old story that I have not seen re-told in a long time. So, since I believe it to be too old a legend to be copyrighted anywhere, I will re-tell it. There is a moral to the story – actually, there are probably several, should you choose to ponder.

Once there was a wise old man walking, as wise old men in stories do, from one city to another, far distant city. Although many traveled this way, some on horseback, some, like him, on foot, his journey took him through an isolated, mountainous area, and he was much relieved to find, upon turning a corner, that he was approaching an inn. He glanced at the sign, and saw that it was named The Nine Stars, with the sign being decorated with, indeed, nine stars. He entered, eager for some lunch… and perhaps something liquid to accompany it… and was surprised to find that, apart from the inn-keeper, it was empty.

He was served an excellent lunch, and some excellent liquids, and, since the inn-keeper did not seem busy the old man asked him to sit down with him.

“How is it,” he asked the inn-keeper, “that you serve such excellent food, your inn is spotless and very comfortable, and you seem to be the only inn around – yet I am your only customer?”

As they sat together he heard a tale of woe, of travelers passing by without stopping, eager to push on despite the distance to their distinations, of difficulty paying the bills, of concern that, despite his excellent service, the inn-keeper might soon go out of business.

“If only they would stop just once,” the inn-keeper lamented. “Once they see how well-kept my inn is, and they taste my cooking, I know they would come back! But they never stop.”

The two men talked a while, and then the old man rose to his feet, paid the bill, and asked,

“May I give you one small and simple piece of advice about your business?”

“Oh, please, anything you can tell me,” the inn-keeper seemed halfway between amusement that this old traveler might be able to help him and the desperation of seeking any port in a storm.

“Will you agree to follow it?”

The inn-keeper hesitated a moment, then, remembering that he had little or nothing to lose, he agreed.

“Your sign,” said the old man, gesturing toward the door. “It is very attractive, but I want you to change it.”

“Change it? How?” The inn-keeper’s father-in-law had painted that sign and he had no wish to give insult to a family member.

“Just one small thing. I want you to leave it just as it is except that I want you to paint over that ninth star, the one at the bottom.

“But then there will be only eight stars, and this is The Nine Star Inn,” protested the baffled inn-keeper.

“You agreed to do as I said. I will be back in a few weeks. Then, if you still don’t like it, we can talk.”

The old man gathered himself up, turned, and continued on his journey.

The inn-keeper sighed, but he was a man of his word, and he went looking for a paint-brush and some paint.

* * * * * * * *

A month or so later the old man returned. As he approached he smiled to himself. The place was bustling. The ramshackle stable had been freshly painted, and was so full that there were horses tethered outside, tended by a stable boy. Inside there was a murmur of activity, and he found that almost every table was occupied with travelers eating their lunches, and some, it appeared, were even staying in the inn-keeper’s spartan but spotless upstairs rooms. In the kitchen helpers rushed back and forth, pots steamed, the odors were sufficiently delicious to make him hungry even if he were not already, and presiding over it all was the smiling inn-keeper.

The old man found a seat, sat down, and waited, and soon the inn-keeper greeted him.

“I see things have changed,” commented the old man.

“Yes, yes, isn’t it wonderful! And it’s because of you!” cried the inn-keeper.

The old man raised an eye-brow.

“Because of me?” he smiled. “What did I do?”

“You told me to change the sign. Now it says The Nine Stars, but there are only eight stars on it. It seems that everyone who used to just pass on by now has to come in to tell me that I’ve made a mistake on the sign. Once they come in, they see how good everything looks, they look at the menu board, and they stay to eat. And once they have eaten here, they come back. I’ve hired three helpers and will soon need another!”

“Well, well,” said the old man. “Who would have thought so many people would be so eager to tell someone they don’t even know that he had made a mistake.”

And he smiled quietly to himself as he slurped his very excellent soup.