This was how things were until I was seven years old. My mother then decided that I should take over the care of our sheep. My father did not agree, nor did my sisters. They were so fond of me, that they wanted an exception made in my case. My mother would not give in.
“She’s just like the rest,” she said. “Carolina is already twelve years old. That means she can now begin to work in the fields, or else learn to be a weaver or a seamstress, whichever she prefers.” The care of our flock was then given to me. News that I was beginning my life as a shepherdess spread rapidly among the other shepherds: almost all of them came and offered to be my companions. I said “Yes” to everybody, and arranged with each one to meet on the slopes of the serra. Next day, the serra was a solid mass of sheep with their shepherds, as though a cloud had descended upon it.
But I felt ill at ease in the midst of such a hubbub. I therefore chose three companions from among the shepherds, and without saying a word to anyone, we arranged to pasture our sheep on the opposite slopes. These were the three I chose. Teresa Matias, her sister Maria Rosa and Maria Justino. On the following day, we set out in the direction of a hill known as the Cabeco. We went up the northern slope. Valinhos, a place that Your Excellency already knows by name, is on the southern side of the same hill. On the eastern slope is the cave I have already spoken of in my account of Jacinta. Together with our flocks, we climbed almost to the top of the hill. At our feet lay a wide expanse of trees—olives, oaks, pines, holmoaks, and so on, that stretched away down towards the level valley below.