There lived formerly in a Chinese village an old couple who had no children; and one day the husband put himself in a violent passion with his wife for never having had any, and even beat her. The poor old woman rushed out of the house, crying, and ran a long way. A priest of Buddha met her accidentally, and asked her what had happened to her. “My husband was angry to-day, and beat me, because we had no children,” replied she. “Listen,” said the priest; “I will make you happy! Dig in this earth and knead it” (it was clay). The woman obeyed, and the priest then sat down, and with his fingers moulded nine little figures. “The first,” said he, “will have long ears and very quick hearing; the second, a piercing sight; the third, a skin so hard that he will not feel any blow; the fourth will stand fire without hurt; the fifth will have an enormous head, as hard as iron; the sixth, legs long enough to cross the deepest stream; the seventh, feet as large as those of an elephant, for walking in mire; the eighth, an immense stomach; and the ninth, a nose as long as a pipe, from which jets of water will issue at command. Now,” continued the priest, “go home, and every year eat one of these children.” The old woman bowed several times, professing her gratitude and happiness; then she returned home; but in her joy, instead of contenting herself with one child, she eat up all nine at once. Her stomach, which had begun to swell at once, grew every month bigger and bigger, and became frightful. The husband was beside himself with joy, and was very kind to his wife. At last the day of delivery arrived: the father received the first child, and ran to wash him in the stream; but there came a second. “Another!” cried the father, and ran again to the river. Returning, he found a third, then a fourth. He opened his eyes and cried, “Really this is quite enough: what can we give them to eat?” But the whole nine made their appearance on the same day. All were prodigies: they grew rapidly; never cried; eat enormously, and began to run about in two months. But the old man did not know what to call them all; and one day he complained to his wife that he could not distinguish them one from another, got in another passion, and struck her again. The old woman ran away, crying, again, and went to find the priest who had helped her before. “Why do you cry now?” said he. “My husband has so many children now that he does not know what names to give them.” “You are very foolish,” replied he, “not to be able to distinguish them by the gifts they possess. Call one ‘Quick-ear,’ another ‘Hard-head,’ and so on for the others.” The old man had calmed down when his wife returned; but debts accumulated as the children grew up. At last they became strong and fearless.