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 missionary's invitation he entered, and sat down, and the
two chatted pleasantly. The visitor seemed interested in the
foreigner, and asked him many questions that showed a bright,
intelligent mind. When he arose to go, Mackay invited him to come
again, and he promised he would. He left his card, a strip of
pink paper about three inches by six; the name on it read Giam