In the Dutch colonial town later known as Albany, New
York, there lived a baker, Van Amsterdam, who was as honest as he could
be. Each morning, he checked and balanced his scales, and he took great
care to give his customers exactly what they paid for—not more and not
less.
Van Amsterdam’s shop was always busy, because people
trusted him, and because he was a good baker as well. And never was the
shop busier than in the days before December 6, when the Dutch
celebrate Saint Nicholas Day.
At that time of year, people flocked to the baker’s
shop to buy his fine Saint Nicholas cookies. Made of gingerbread, iced
in red and white, they looked just like Saint Nicholas as the Dutch know
him—tall and thin, with a high, red bishop’s cap, and a long, red
bishop’s cloak.
One Saint Nicholas Day morning, the baker was just
ready for business, when the door of his shop flew open. In walked an
old woman, wrapped in a long black shawl.
“I have come for a dozen of your Saint Nicholas
cookies.”
Taking a tray, Van Amsterdam counted out twelve
cookies. He started to wrap them, but the woman reached out and stopped
him.
“I asked for a dozen. You have given me only
twelve.”
“Madam,” said the baker, “everyone knows that a
dozen is twelve.”
“But I say a dozen is thirteen,” said the woman.
“Give me one more.”
Van Amsterdam was not a man to bear foolishness.
“Madam, my customers get exactly what they pay for—not more and not
less.”
“Then you may keep the cookies.”
The woman turned to go, but stopped at the door.
“Van Amsterdam! However honest you may be, your
heart is small and your fist is tight. Fall again, mount again, learn
how to count again!”
Then she was gone.
From that day, everything went wrong in Van
Amsterdam’s bakery. His bread rose too high or not at all. His pies were
sour or too sweet. His cakes crumbled or were chewy. His cookies were
burnt or doughy.
His customers soon noticed the difference. Before
long, most of them were going to other bakers.
“That old woman has bewitched me,” said the baker to
himself. “Is this how my honesty is rewarded?”
A year passed. The baker grew poorer and poorer.
Since he sold little, he baked little, and his shelves were nearly bare.
His last few customers slipped away.
Finally, on the day before Saint Nicholas Day, not
one customer came to Van Amsterdam’s shop. At day’s end, the baker sat
alone, staring at his unsold Saint Nicholas cookies.
“I wish Saint Nicholas could help me now,” he said.
Then he closed his shop and went sadly to bed.
That night, the baker had a dream. He was a boy
again, one in a crowd of happy children. And there in the midst of them
was Saint Nicholas himself.
The bishop’s white horse stood beside him, its
baskets filled with gifts. Nicholas pulled out one gift after another,
and handed them to the children. But Van Amsterdam noticed something
strange. No matter how many presents Nicholas passed out, there were
always more to give. In fact, the more he took from the baskets, the
more they seemed to hold.
Then Nicholas handed a gift to Van Amsterdam. It was
one of the baker’s own Saint Nicholas cookies! Van Amsterdam looked up
to thank him, but it was no longer Saint Nicholas standing there.
Smiling down at him was the old woman with the long black shawl.
Van Amsterdam awoke with a start. Moonlight shone
through the half-closed shutters as he lay there, thinking.
“I always give my customers exactly what they pay
for,” he said, “not more and not less. But why not give more?”
The next morning, Saint Nicholas Day, the baker rose
early. He mixed his gingerbread dough and rolled it out. He molded the
shapes and baked them. He iced them in red and white to look just like
Saint Nicholas. And the cookies were as fine as any he had made.
Van Amsterdam had just finished, when the door flew
open. In walked the old woman with the long black shawl.
“I have come for a dozen of your Saint Nicholas
cookies.”
In great excitement, Van Amsterdam counted out
twelve cookies—and one more.
“In this shop,” he said, “from now on, a dozen is
thirteen.”
“You have learned to count well,” said the woman.
“You will surely be rewarded.”
She paid for the cookies and started out. But as the
door swung shut, the baker’s eyes seemed to play a trick on him. He
thought he glimpsed the tail end of a long red cloak.
* * *
As the old woman foretold, Van Amsterdam was
rewarded. When people heard he counted thirteen as a dozen, he had more
customers than ever.
In fact, Van Amsterdam grew so wealthy that the
other bakers in town began doing the same. From there, the practice
spread to other towns, and at last through all the American colonies.
And this, they say, is how thirteen became the
“baker’s dozen”—a custom common for over a century, and alive in some
places to this day.
About the Story
Though a number of sources were used for this
retelling, the earliest and most authoritative was Myths and Legends
of Our Own Land, by Charles M. Skinner, Lippincott, Philadelphia and
London, 1896; reprinted by Singing Tree Press, Detroit, 1969. For
inspiration and a crucial element, I am indebted to storyteller Sheila
Dailey and her wonderful audio tape Stories of the Long Christmas.
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