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 Amsterdams 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 6th， when the Dutch celebrate Saint Nicholas Day.

At that time of year， people flocked to the bakers 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 bishops cap， and a long， red bishops 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 Amsterdams 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 Amsterdams shop. At days 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 bishops 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 bakers 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 bakers 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 “bakers dozen”—a custom common for over a century， and alive in some places to this day.

在荷蘭殖民地城鎮(zhèn)，后來的紐約州奧爾巴尼市，住著一位面包師范·阿姆斯特丹，他為人十分誠實(shí)。每天早上，他都會檢查、調(diào)整秤，客人買多少，他就仔細(xì)地稱出準(zhǔn)確的重量——不多也不少。

范·阿姆斯特丹的店總是很繁忙，因?yàn)槿藗冃湃嗡?，也因?yàn)樗且粋€出色的面包師。每年的12月6日是荷蘭的圣尼古拉斯節(jié)，臨近節(jié)日的幾天是面包店最忙碌的時候。

每年的那個時候，人們都會涌進(jìn)面包店買他那些美味的圣尼古拉斯餅干。這種餅干由姜餅加上紅色和白色的糖霜做成，看起來就像荷蘭人熟悉的圣尼古拉斯那樣——高高瘦瘦，戴著高高的主教紅帽子，披著長長的主教紅斗篷。

一個圣尼古拉斯節(jié)的早上，面包師剛做好準(zhǔn)備，門突然被打開了。一個披著長長黑色披肩的老太太走了進(jìn)來，“我要買一打你做的圣尼古拉斯餅干?！?/p>

范·阿姆斯特丹拿出托盤，數(shù)了十二個餅干。正當(dāng)他開始把餅干裝起來時，那位老太太過來打斷了他。

“我要一打，你只給了我12個?！?/p>

“夫人，”面包師說，“所有人都知道一打就是12個啊?！?/p>

“但我說的一打是13個，”老太太說。“再給我一個?！?/p>

范·阿姆斯特丹不能容忍這樣的蠢事?！胺蛉?，我的顧客買多少我就給多少，不多也不少?！?/p>

“那你留著這些餅干吧?！?/p>

老太太轉(zhuǎn)身離開，但在門口處停住了。

“范·阿姆斯特丹！你雖然誠實(shí)，但你的心很小，你的手握得太緊。吃一塹，長一智，重新學(xué)學(xué)如何數(shù)數(shù)吧！”

然后，她就離開了。

那天以后，范·阿姆斯特丹的面包店遇到了麻煩。他的面包要么膨脹得太厲害，要么完全不膨脹。他的餡餅要么酸了要么太甜了。他的蛋糕要么太松要么太韌。他的餅干要么焦了要么不熟。

他的顧客很快就發(fā)現(xiàn)了其中的問題。不久，大部分顧客都去光顧別的面包店了。

“那個老太太詛咒了我，”面包師自言自語道。“這就是我誠實(shí)的報應(yīng)嗎？”

一年過去了，面包師越來越窮。他賣得少，也就做得少，他的架子幾乎是空的。他最后的顧客也不來了。

最后，在圣尼古拉斯節(jié)的前一天，范·阿姆斯特丹的面包店一個顧客都沒有了。這天晚上，面包師獨(dú)自坐在那兒，盯著那些賣不出去的圣尼古拉斯餅干。

“希望圣尼古拉斯現(xiàn)在可以幫幫我，”他說。他關(guān)門后傷心地上床睡覺了。

那天晚上，面包師做了個夢。他變成了一個小男孩，和一群快樂的小孩子在一起，而圣尼古拉斯本人就在他們中間。

主教的白馬就站在他旁邊，馬背上的籃子裝滿了禮物。尼古拉斯一件一件地拿出禮物送給小孩子。但范·阿姆斯特丹發(fā)現(xiàn)了一件奇怪的事情——不管尼古拉斯拿出多少份禮物，籃子里總會有更多的禮物。事實(shí)上，他從籃子里拿出的越多，里面的禮物似乎也越多。

然后，尼古拉斯遞給范·阿姆斯特丹一份禮物。那是面包師自己的圣尼古拉斯餅干！范·阿姆斯特丹抬起頭來感謝他，但站在那兒的不再是圣尼古拉斯，而是那位披著長長黑色披肩的老太太，正向他低頭微笑。

范·阿姆斯特丹猛地驚醒過來。他邊躺著，邊思考，月光從半關(guān)著的窗戶中照進(jìn)來。

“我總是給顧客準(zhǔn)確的量，”他說，“不多不少。但為何不多給一些呢？”

第二天早上就是圣尼古拉斯節(jié)，面包師早早起來了。他把姜餅面粉和好，壓平，拿模具做出形狀，放進(jìn)烤箱，最后再加上紅色和白色的霜糖，看起來就像圣尼古拉斯一樣。這些餅干跟他以前做的一樣好。

范·阿姆斯特丹剛做好，門就被打開了。那個披著長長黑色披肩的老太太走了進(jìn)來。

“我要一打圣尼古拉斯餅干。”

范·阿姆斯特丹非常激動，他數(shù)了12個餅干——加一個。

“在這家店里，”他說，“從此一打就是13?！?/p>

“你學(xué)會數(shù)數(shù)了，”老太太說?！澳憧隙〞玫交貓蟮??！?/p>

她付錢后就出去了。但在門關(guān)上時，面包師的眼睛好像看到了什么特別的東西。他似乎看到了一件紅色長斗篷的下擺。

正如那位老太太預(yù)言的那樣，范·阿姆斯特丹得到了回報。人們聽說他以13為一打后，更多人光顧他的店了。

事實(shí)上，范·阿姆斯特丹變得很富有，其他面包師也開始仿效他的做法。這個做法從這個鎮(zhèn)傳到其他鎮(zhèn)上，最后傳遍了整個美洲殖民地。

人們說，這就是“面包師的一打”等于13的由來——這個習(xí)俗流行了一個多世紀(jì)，在如今的一些地方仍然如此。