The Baker's Dozen





Baas [Boss] Volckert Jan Pietersen Van Amsterdam kept a bake-shop in

Albany, and lives in history as the man who invented New Year cakes and

made gingerbread babies in the likeness of his own fat offspring. Good

churchman though he was, the bane of his life was a fear of being

bewitched, and perhaps it was to keep out evil spirits, who might make

one last effort to gain the mastery over him, ere he turned the customary

leaf with the incoming year, that he had primed himself with an extra

glass of spirits on the last night of 1654. His sales had been brisk, and

as he sat in his little shop, meditating comfortably on the gains he

would make when his harmless rivals--the knikkerbakkers (bakers of

marbles)--sent for their usual supply of olie-koeks and mince-pies on the

morrow, he was startled by a sharp rap, and an ugly old woman entered.

Give me a dozen New Year's cookies! she cried, in a shrill voice.



Vell, den, you needn' sbeak so loud. I aind teaf, den.



A dozen! she screamed. Give me a dozen. Here are only twelve.



Vell, den, dwalf is a dozen.



One more! I want a dozen.



Vell, den, if you vant anodder, go to de duyvil and ged it.



Did the hag take him at his word? She left the shop, and from that time

it seemed as if poor Volckert was bewitched, indeed, for his cakes were

stolen; his bread was so light that it went up the chimney, when it was

not so heavy that it fell through the oven; invisible hands plucked

bricks from that same oven and pelted him until he was blue; his wife

became deaf, his children went unkempt, and his trade went elsewhere.

Thrice the old woman reappeared, and each time was sent anew to the

devil; but at last, in despair, the baker called on Saint Nicolaus to

come and advise him. His call was answered with startling quickness, for,

almost while he was making it, the venerable patron of Dutch feasts stood

before him. The good soul advised the trembling man to be more generous

in his dealings with his fellows, and after a lecture on charity he

vanished, when, lo! the old woman was there in his place.



She repeated her demand for one more cake, and Volckert Jan Pietersen,

etc., gave it, whereupon she exclaimed, The spell is broken, and from

this time a dozen is thirteen! Taking from the counter a gingerbread

effigy of Saint Nicolaus, she made the astonished Dutchman lay his hand

upon it and swear to give more liberal measure in the future. So, until

thirteen new States arose from the ruins of the colonies,--when the

shrewd Yankees restored the original measure,--thirteen made a baker's

dozen.





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