Honors American Studies

American Folktales Reader

Mr. Chau

A Bakers Dozen: A New York Christmas Story

Retold by S.E. Schlosser Back in the old days, I had a successful bakeshop 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 womans 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 twelve, my good woman, and that is what I have given you, I replied. I ordered a dozen cookies, not twelve, 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 twelve, not thirteen! Take it or leave it! Very well, said she, and left the shop without taking the cookies. From that moment, my luck changed. The next day, my cakes were stolen out of my shop, and the thieves were never found. Then my bread refused to rise. For a week, every loaf of bread I made was so heavy that it fell right through the oven and into the fire. The next week, the bread rose so high that it actually floated up the chimney. I was frightened when I saw the loaves floating away across the rooftops. That was the first moment I realized I had been bewitched. It was then that I remembered the old woman who came to my shop, and I was afraid. The next week, the old woman appeared again in my shop and demanded a bakers dozen of the latest batch of my cookies. I was angry. How dare she show her face in my shop after all the bad luck she sent my way? I cursed her soundly and showed her the door. Things became worse for me then. My bread soured, and my olykoeks (donuts) were a disgrace. Every cake I made collapsed as soon as it came out of the oven, and my gingerbread children and my cookies lost their flavor. Word was getting around that my bakeshop was no good, and one by one, my customers were falling away. I was angry now, and stubborn. No witch was going to defeat me. When she came to my bakeshop a third time to demand a bakers dozen of cookies, I told her to go to the devil and I locked the door behind her. After that day, everything I baked was either burnt or soggy, too light or too heavy. My customers began to avoid my cursed shop, even those who had come to me every day for years. Finally, my family and I were the only ones eating my baking, and my money was running out. I was desperate. I took myself to church and began to pray to Saint Nicholas, the patron Saint of merchants, to lift the witchs curse from myself and my family. Come and advise me, Saint Nicholas, for my family is in dire straights and I need good counsel against this evil witch who stands against us, I prayed. Then I trudged wearily back to my empty shop, wondering what to do. I stirred up a batch of Saint Nicholas cookies and put them into the oven to bake, wondering how this lot would turn out. Too much cinnamon? Too little? Burnt? Under-done? To my surprise, they came out perfectly. I frosted them carefully, and put my first successful baking in weeks onto a tray where they could be seen through the window. When I looked up, Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) was standing in front of me. I knew him at once, this patron Saint of merchants, sailors, and children. He was not carrying his gold staff or wearing the red bishops robes and mitered hat that appeared on the figure I had just frosted on my cookies. But the white beard and the kindly eyes were the same. I was trembling so much my legs would not hold me, so I sat down on a stool and looked up at the Saint standing so near I could have touched him. His eyes regarded me with such sadness it made me want to weep. Saint Nicholas 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 our Lord taught us. 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.

Honors American Studies

American Folktales Reader

Mr. Chau

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 asked me for a dozen Saint Nicholas cookies. I got up slowly, counted out thirteen cookies, and gave them to the old woman, free of charge. She nodded her head briskly. The spell is broken, she said. From this time onward, a dozen is thirteen. And from that day onward, I gave generously of my baking and of my money, and thirteen was always, for me, a bakers dozen.

Honors American Studies

American Folktales Reader

Mr. Chau

The Trickster Tricked

A Native American Legend (Creek/Muscogee Tribe) Rabbit and Terrapin met near the stream one morning. It was a lovely clear day, and they both basked in the warm sunshine and swapped some stories. Rabbit started boasting that he was the fastest runner in the world. Terrapin wasnt having any of that! No sir! I bet I can beat you in a race, Terrapin said to Rabbit. Rabbit laughed and laughed at the idea. You crawl so slow you hardly look like you are moving, Rabbit said. Youll never beat me! Terrapin was mad now. I will win the race. You meet me tomorrow morning right here, said he. I will wear a white feather on my head so you can see me in the tall grass. We will run over four hills, and the first one to reach the stake at the top of the fourth hill will be the winner. Rabbit laughed again and said: That will be me! I will see you tomorrow for the race! Then Rabbit hopped off, still chuckling to himself. Terrapin was in a bind now. He knew he could not run faster than Rabbit. But he had an idea. He gathered all of his family and told them that their honor was at stake. When they heard about the race, the other turtles agreed to help him. Terrapin gave each of his family members a white feather, and placed them at various stages along the route of the race. The first was at the top of the first hill, the second in the valley, the third at the top of the second hill, and so on. Then Terrapin placed himself at the top of the fourth hill next to the winners stake. The next morning, Rabbit came down to the stream and found Terrapin with his white feather waiting at the starting line. Ready, set, go! said the Rabbit and he ran up and up the first hill. The Terrapin with the white feather started crawling along behind him. As soon as Rabbit was out of sight, he disappeared into the bushes. As Rabbit reached the top of the first hill, he saw ahead of him Terrapin with his white feather crawling as fast as it could go down into the valley. Rabbit was amazed. He put on a burst of speed and passed the Terrapin with the white feather. As soon as Rabbit had his back turned, the second Terrapin took off the white feather and crawled into the bushes, chuckling to himself. When Rabbit reached the valley floor, there was Terrapin ahead of him again, crawling up the second hill with his white feather. Rabbit ran and ran, leaving Terrapin far behind him. But every time he reached a hilltop or a valley, there was Terrapin again with his white feather, crawling along as fast as he could go! Rabbit was gasping for breath when he reached the bottom of the third valley. He had passed Terrapin yet again at the top of the third hill, but here was that rascally turtle appearing on the racetrack ahead of him, crawling as fast as he could go up the slope of the fourth hill. Rabbit was determined to win the race, so he plucked up the last few ounces of his strength and sprinted up the hill, passing the Terrapin with the white feather. He was nearly there! Rabbit rounded the last corner and braked to a halt in astonishment. Sitting by the stake, waving his white feather proudly was Terrapin. He had won the race! !

Honors American Studies

American Folktales Reader

Mr. Chau

Burnt Church
She was sophisticated, poised, and cultured. In retrospect, this should have made them suspicious. A teacher like her should be presiding over a girls school in London or New York, not seeking a position in a small town in Georgia. But at the time, they were too delighted by her application to ask any questions. It will be good for our daughter to learn some culture, the attorneys wife told the pastors wife. And our boy may find some table manners at last, the pastors wife responded with a smile. School was called into session in the local church shortly after the arrival of the teacher. And soon, the children were bringing glowing reports home. Teacher was special. Teacher taught them manners and diction as well as reading, writing and arithmetic. All the children loved teacher. The parents were delighted by the progress their children were making at school. Teacher had been a real find. A Godsend, said the preachers wife. But not everyone in town was so satisfied. The local ne-er-do well called Smith had more sinister stories to tell. That woman aint natural, he told the blacksmith, waving a bottle of whisky for emphasis. the woods after dark, dancing around a campfire and chanting in a strange language. Nonsense, the blacksmith retorted, calmly hammering a headed iron bar on his anvil. They say shes got an altar in her room and it aint an altar to the Almighty, Smith insisted, leaning forward and blowing his boozy breath into the blacksmiths face. Youre drunk, said the blacksmith, lifting the hot iron so it barred the man from coming any closer. Go home and sleep it off. Smith left the smithy, but he continued to talk wild about the Teacher in the weeks that followed. During those weeks, a change gradually came over the school children. The typical high-junks and pranks that all children played lessened. Their laughter died away. And when they did misbehave, it was on a much more ominous scale than before. Items began to disappear from houses and farms. Expensive items like jewelry, farm tools, and money. When children talked back to their parents, there was a hardedge to their voices, and they did not apologize for their rudeness, even when punished. And my daughter lied to me the other day, the attorneys wife said to the pastors wife in distress. I saw her punch her younger brother and steal an apple from him, and she denied it to my face. She practically called me a liar! The games the children play back in the woods frighten me, the pastors wife confessed. They chant in a strange language, and they move in such a strange manner. Almost like a ritual dance. Could it be something they are learning at school? asked the attorneys wife. Surely not! Teacher is such a sweet, sophisticated lady, said the pastors wife. But they exchanged uneasy glances. I seen her out in

Honors American Studies

American Folktales Reader

Mr. Chau

Smith, on the other hand, was sure. That teacher is turning the younguns to the Devil, thats what shes doing, he proclaimed up and down the streets of the town. Dont be ridiculous, the preacher told him when they passed in front of the mercantile. I aint ridiculous. You are blind, Smith told him. That teacher ought to be burned at the stake, like they burned the witches in Salem. The pastor, pale with wrath, ordered Smith out of his sight. But the neer-do-wells words rang in his mind and would not be pushed away. And the children continued to behave oddly. Almost like they were possessed. He would, the preacher decided reluctantly, have to look into it someday soon. That day came sooner than he thought. The very next Monday, his little boy came down with a cold, and his mother kept him home from school. When the pastor returned from his duties for a late lunch, his wife came running up to him as soon as he entered the door. She was pale with fright. I heard him chanting something over and over again in his bedroom, she gasped. So I crept to the door to listen. He was saying the Lords Prayer backwards! The pastor gasped and clutched his Bible to his chest, as goose bumps erupted over his body. This was positively satanic. And there was nowhere the boy could have learned such a thing in this town, unless he learned itat school. At that moment, the attorneys wife came bursting in the door behind him. Quick pastor, quick, she cried. Smith is running through town with a torch, talking about burning down the school. The children are still in class! The pastor raced out of the house with the two women at his heels. They and the other townsfolk who followed them were met by a huge cloud of smoke coming from the direction of the church, where the school children had their lessons. The building was already ablaze as frantic parents beat at the flames with wet sacks, or threw buckets of water from the pump into the inferno. Smith could be heard cackling unrepentantly from the far side of the building, which was full of the screams of the trapped students and their teacher. The fire blazed with a supernatural kind of force, and the pastor thought he heard the sound of the Teacher laughing from within the building when it became apparent that no one could be saved. The church burnt for several hours, and when it was finally extinguished, there was nothing left. Mourning parents tried to find something of their children to bury, and Smith wisely disappeared from town, his mission against the works of Satan completed. The teachers burnt body was buried deep in the ground and covered with brick tomb. The childrens smaller bodies were interred beneath wooden crosses. Of all the students in the school that fall, only the pastors small son survived. To this day, voices can be heard in the graveyard of at Burnt Church, chanting unintelligible words, as the school children and the teacher once chanted in the woods outside town. Sometimes apparitions are seen, and dark walkers who roam the graveyard at night. And they say that a brick taken from the grave of the evil teacher can set fire to objects on which they are placed. !

Honors American Studies

American Folktales Reader

Mr. Chau

Why Lizards Cant Sit

An African-American Folktale Back in the old days, Brer Lizard was an awful lot like Brer Frog, meaning he could sit upright like a dog. Things were like this for quite a spell. Then one day when they were walking down the road by their swamp, Brer Lizard and Brer Frog spotted some real nice pastureland with a great big pond that was on the far side of a great big fence. Ooo did that land look good. Looked like a great place for Brer Lizard to catch insects and other good food. And Brer Frog wanted a swim in that big ol pool. Brer Lizard and Brer Frog went right up to the fence, which got bigger and bigger as they approached. It kinda loomed over them, as big and tall as they were little and small. And the boards of that fence were mashed together real tight, and deep into the ground. It was too tall to hop over, and neither of them was much good at digging, so they couldnt go under. That fence said Keep Out pretty clear, even though no one had put a sign on it. Well, Brer Lizard and Brer Frog sat beside that tall fence with their bottoms on the ground and their front ends propped up, cause Brer Lizard could still sit upright then jest like a dog, and they tried to figure out how to get through the fence. Suddenly, Brer Frog saw a narrow crack, low to the ground. Im going ta squeeze through that crack over there, he croaked. Lawd, help me through! And Brer Frog hopped over and pushed and squeezed and struggled and prayed his way through that tiny crack until he popped out on tother side. Come on Lizard, Brer Frog called through the crack. Im a-comin! Brer Lizard called back. Im a-goin to squeeze through this here crack, Lawd willin or not! Brer Lizard scurried over to the crack in the fence and he pushed and squeezed and struggled and cursed. Suddenly, a rail fell down and mashed him flat! After that, Brer Lizard couldnt sit upright no more. And he never did get through that fence to eat them insects, neither! !

Fur-Bearing Trout
A Colorado Tall Tale Now it happened that there was a mining camp in Colorado where more than an average number of the miners were bald. An enterprising hair tonic salesman from Kentucky decided to take advantage of this golden opportunity, so he made the trip north. It was a rainy summer evening. The salesman was headed towards the mining camp with four bottles of hair tonic under his arm. As he was crossing one of the trout streams which lead to the Arkansas River, the salesman slipped and dropped two bottles of hair tonic into the water. The bottles broke, and the hair tonic spilled into the stream. Not too long after this incident, the fishermen along the Arkansas developed a new method for catching trout. Theyd head to the bank of the river carrying a red and white barber pole and some scissors. Then they would set up the barber pole and call out: Get your free shave and a hair cut here. All the trout whose fur had grown too long or who needed their beards trimmed would hop right out of the water and be picked up by the fishermen. It wasnt until the mills began muddying the waters so much that the fish couldnt see the barber poles that the practice died out. !