fted so far from the
truth. But Confucianism meant ancestor-worship. In every home was a
little tablet with the names of the family's ancestors upon it, and
every one in the house worshiped the spirits of those departed. With
this was another religion called Taoism. This taught belief in wicked
demons who lurked about people ready to do them some ill. Then,
years and years before, some people from India had brought over their
religion, Buddhism, which had become a system of idol-worship. These
three religions were so mixed up that the people themselves were not
able to distinguish between them. The names of their idols would cover
pages, and an account of their religion would fill volumes. The more
Mackay learned of it, the more he yearned to tell the people of the one
God who was Lord and Father of them all.

As soon as he had learned to write clearly, he bought a large sheet of
paper, and printed on it the ten commandments in Chinese characters.
Then he hung it on the outside of his door. People who passed read it
and made comments of various kinds. Several threw mud at it, and at
last a proud graduate, who came striding past his silk robes rustling
grandly, caught the paper and tore it down. Mackay promptly put up
another. It shared the fate of the first. Then he put up a third, and
the people let it alone. Even these heathen Chinese were beginning to
get an impression of the dauntless determination of the man with whom
they were to get much better acquainted.

And all this time, while he was studying and working and arguing with
the heathen and preaching to them, the young missionary was working just
as hard at something else; something into which he was putting as much
energy and force as he did into learning the Chinese language. With
all his might and main, day and night, he was praying--praying for one
special object. He had been praying for this long before he saw Formosa.
He was pleading with God to give him, as his first convert, a young
man of education. And so he was always on the lookout for such, as he
preached and taught, and never once did he cease praying that he might
find him.

One forenoon he was sitting at his books, near the open door, when a
visitor stopped before him. It was a fine-looking young man, well
dressed and with all the unmistakable signs of the scholar. He had none
of the graduate's proud insolence, however, for when Mackay arose, he
spoke in the most gentlemanly manner. At the mis