After the 13th of September, when I told Francisco that in October Our Lord would come as well, he was overwhelmed with joy: “Oh, how good He is! I’ve only seen Him twice, and I love Him so much!” From time to time, he asked: “Are there many days left till the 13th? I’m longing for that day to come, so that I can see Our Lord again.” Then he thought for a moment, and added: “But listen! Will He still be so sad? I am so sorry to see Him sad like that! I offer Him all the sacrifices I can think of. Sometimes, I don’t even run away from all those people just in order to make sacrifices!”
After October 13th, he said to me: “I loved seeing Our Lord, but I loved still more seeing Him in that light where we were with Him, and then I can look at Him forever.” One day I asked Him: “When you are questioned, why do you put your head down and not want to answer?”
“Because I want you to answer, and Jacinta too. I didn’t hear anything. I can only say what I saw. Then supposing I said something you don’t want me to say?”
Every now and then he went off and left us without warning. When we missed him, we went in search of him, calling out his name. He answered from behind a little wall, or a shrub or a clump of brambles, and there he was on his knees praying.
“Why didn’t you tell us so that we could come and pray with you?”
“Because I prefer to pray alone.”
In my notes on the book called Jacinta, I’ve already related what happened on a piece of land known as Varzea. I don’t think I need to repeat it here. On my way home one day, we had to pass by my godmother’s house. She had just been making a mead drink, and called us in to give us a glass. We went in, and Francisco was the first to whom she offered a glassful. He took it and without drinking it, he passed it on to Jacinta, so that she and I could have a drink first. Meanwhile he turned on his heel and disappeared.
“Where is Francisco?” My godmother asked.
“I don’t know, he was here just now.”
He did not return, so Jacinta and I thanked my godmother for the drink and went in search of Francisco. We knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be sitting on the edge of the well which I have mentioned so often.
“Francisco, you didn’t drink your glass of mead! My godmother called you so many times, and you didn’t appear!”
“When I took the glass, I suddenly remembered I could offer that sacrifice to console Our Lord, so while you two were taking a drink, I ran over here.”