The triumphant shout that the mission had been wiped out ceased completely, and the people declared that they had been fools to try to destroy the chapels, for the result had been only bigger and better ones.
"Look now," said one old heathen, pointing a withered finger to the handsome spire of the Bang-kah chapel, that lifted itself toward the sky, "Look now, the chapel towers above our temple. It is larger than the one we destroyed."
His neighbors crowding about him and gazing up with superstitious awe at the spire, agreed.
"If we touch this one he will build another and a bigger one," remarked another man.
"We cannot stop the barbarian missionary," said the old heathen with an air of conviction.
"No, no one can stop the great Kai Boksu," they finally agreed, and so they left off all opposition in despair.
Yes, the cry of "Long-tsong bo-khi" had died, and the answer to it was inscribed on the front of the splendid chapels that sprang up all over north Formosa. For, just above the main entrance to each, worked out in stucco plaster, was a picture of the burning bush, and around it in Chinese the grand old motto:
"Nec tamen consumebatur" ("Yet it was not consumed.")