My prayer, and take of all I do, the praise.

In a great city of Asia, among the Christian folk, many Jews once
dwelt, gathered there by the lord of the land for villainous usury,
and through their street, year in year out, passed children on their
way to school. Among these children went a widow's son, a little
chorister seven years of age, and as he went to school never did he
fail to kneel and do reverence to the statue of the Virgin and sing
the _Ave Maria_.

One day at school the elder children were singing the anthem _Alma
Redemptions_, and the little child, looking up from his primer, drew
as near to them as he dared, and listened till he knew by heart the
first verse. However, he was too young to know what the Latin meant,
so he besought his friend to explain, even going down on his knees to
beg him to tell it all correctly. The friend was willing to teach
him. "They say," he said, "that it is in honour of Our Lady, and it
is to Her we sing it, but I can tell you no more. I know the song,
but not enough Latin grammar to translate it." Then the child was
even more eager to learn, and daily his friend taught him till he
could sing it perfectly, words and music: and as he went to and from
school each day, he sang it merrily as he passed through the street
of the Jews. But Satan, who first led mankind astray, whispered to
the Jews to be revenged on one who dared to praise the Mother of
Jesus so boldly in their streets. And they plotted with a murderer,
who one day seized the child, killed him, and cast away the body in
a pit.

("O cursed folk!" then cried the Prioress, "your secret is in vain.
Murder will out whatever men may do. But thou, O blessed martyr, thou