Jacinta took this matter of sacrifices for the conversion of sinners so much to heart, that she never let a single opportunity escape her. There were two families in Moita whose children used to go round begging from door to door. We met one day, as we were going along with our sheep.
As soon as she saw them, Jacinta said to us: “Let’s give our lunch to those poor children, for the conversion of sinners,” and she ran to take it to them.
That afternoon, she told me she was hungry. There were some holm-oaks and oak trees nearby. The acorns were still quite green. However, I told her we could still eat them. Francisco climbed up a holm-oak to fill his pockets, but Jacinta remembered that we could eat the ones on the oak tree instead, and thus make a sacrifice by eating the bitter kind. So it was there, that afternoon, that we enjoyed this delicious repast! Jacinta made this as one of her usual sacrifices, and often picked the acorns off the oaks or the olives off the trees.
One day I said to her: “Jacinta, don’t eat that; it’s too bitter!”
“But it’s because it’s bitter that I’m eating it, for the conversion of sinners.”
These were not the only times we fasted. We had agreed that whenever we see any poor children like these, we would give them our lunch. They were only too happy to receive such an alm, and they took good care to meet us; they used to wait for us along the road. We no sooner saw them than Jacinta ran to give them all the food we had for that day, as happy as if she had no need for it herself.
On days like that, our only nourishment consisted of pine nuts, and little berries the size of an olive which grew on the roots of little bell-flowers, as well as blackberries, mushrooms, and some other things we found on the roots of pine trees—I can’t remember now what these were called. If there was fruit available on the land belonging to our parents, we used to eat that. Jacinta’s thirst for making sacrifices seemed insatiable.
One day a neighbor offered my mother a good pasture for our sheep. Though it was quite far away, and we were at the height of summer, my mother accepted the offer made so generously and sent me there. She told me that we should take our siesta in the shade of the trees, as there was a pond nearby where the flock could go and drink. On the way, we met our dear poor children, and Jacinta ran and gave them our usual alms.
It was a lovely day, but the sun was blazing, and in that arid, stony wasteland, it seemed as though it would burn everything up. We were parched with thirst, and there wasn’t a single drop of water for us to drink! At first, we offered it up generously for the conversion of sinners, but after midday, we could hold out no longer.
As there was a house quite near, I suggested to my companions that I should go and ask for a little water. They agreed to this, so I went and knocked on the door. A little old woman gave me not only a pitcher of water, but also some bread which I accepted gratefully. I ran to share it with my little companions, and then offered the pitcher to Francisco, and told him to drink.
“I don’t want to,” he replied.
“Why?”
“I want to suffer for the conversion of sinners.”
“You have a drink Jacinta!”
“But I want to offer this sacrifice for the conversion of sinners too.”
Then I poured the water into a hollow in the rock, so that the sheep could drink it, and went to return the pitcher to its owner. The heat was getting more and more intense. The shrill singing of the crickets and grasshoppers coupled with the croaking of the frogs in the neighboring pond made an uproar that was almost unbearable.
Jacinta, frail as she was, and weakened still more by the lack of food and drink, said to me with that simplicity which was natural to her: “Tell the crickets and the frogs to keep quiet! I have such a terrible headache.”
Then Francisco said to her: “Don’t you want to suffer for the conversion of sinners?”
The poor child, clasping her head between her two little hands, replied: “Yes, I do! Let them sing!”