A baker's dozen

[Retold by S.E. Schlosser ]

Back in the old days, I had a successful bake-shop in Albany. I had a good business, a plump wife, and a big family. I was a happy man. But trouble came to my shop one year in the guise of an ugly old woman. She entered my shop a few minutes before closing and said: “I wish to have a dozen cookies.”

She pointed to my special Saint Nicholas cookies that were sitting out on a tray. So, I counted out twelve cookies for her.

The old woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw the cookies. “Only twelve?” she asked. I knew at once what she wanted. There were some bakers in town who sometimes gave an extra cookie to their customers, but I was appalled by the custom. What man of sense would give away an extra cookie for free?

“I asked for a dozen cookies, and you only give me twelve,” the woman said. “A dozen is 12, my good woman, and that is what I have given you,” I replied. “I ordered a dozen cookies, not 12,” said the old woman. I was upset by this demand.

I always gave my customers exactly what they paid for. But I was a thrifty man, and it was against my nature to give away something for nothing.

“I have a family to support,” I said stiffly. “If I give away all my cookies, how can I feed my family? A dozen is 12, not 13! Take it or leave it!”

“Very well,” said she, and left the shop without taking the cookies. From that moment, my luck changed. Every cake I made collapsed as soon as it came out of the oven, and my gingerbread children and my cookies lost their flavour.

None of my cakes was rising. I tried every trick in the book but to no avail. None of my bakery goods was tasting good. The easiest of the lot was baking sugar buns. I tried baking sugar buns as well.

I bought the best flour and used the softest sugar but all I got were flat pancakes and not a single bun.

Word was getting around that my bake-shop was no good, and one by one, my customers were falling away. My money was running out. I was desperate.

Then suddenly I saw a jet of smoke and a genie appeared from the smoke. His eyes regarded me with such sadness it made me want to weep.

The genie said softly: “I spent my whole life giving money to those in need, helping the sick and suffering, and caring for little children, just as we are thought God, in his mercy, has been generous to us, and we should be generous to those around us.”

I could not bear to look into his eyes, so I buried my face in my hands.“Is an extra cookie such a terrible price to pay for the generosity God has shown to us?” he asked gently, touching my head with his hand. Then he was gone.

A moment later, I heard the shop door open and footsteps approached the counter.

I knew before I looked up that the ugly old woman had returned to ask me for a dozen of my delicious new cookies.

I got up slowly, counted out thirteen cookies, and gave them to the old woman, free.

She nodded her head briskly. “The spell is broken,” she said.

“From this time onward, a dozen is thirteen.” And from that day, I gave generously of my baking and of my money, and 13 was always, for me, a baker’s dozen.

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