Francisco was very fond of birds and could not bear to see anyone robbing their nests. He always kept part of the bread he had for his lunch, breaking it into crumbs and spreading them out on top of the rocks, so that the birds could eat them. Moving away a little, he called them as though he expected them to understand him. He didn’t want anyone else to approach lest they be frightened.
“Poor wee things! You are hungry,” he said, as though conversing with them. “Come, come and eat!” And they, keen-eyed as they are, did not wait for the invitation, but came flocking around him. It was his delight to see them flying back to the tree tops with their little craws full, singing and chirping in a deafening chorus, in which Francisco joined with rare skill.
One day we met a little boy carrying in his hand a small bird that he caught. Full of compassion, Francisco promised him two coins, if only he would let the birds fly away. The boy readily agreed. But first he wished to see the money in his hand. Francisco ran all the way home from the Carreira pond, which lies a little distance below the Cova da Iria, to fetch the coins, and so let the little prisoner free. Then he watched it fly away, he clapped his hands for joy, and said: “Be careful! Don’t let yourself be caught again.”
Thereabouts lived an old woman called Ti Maria Carreira, whose sons sent her out sometimes to take care of her flock of goats and sheep. The animals were rather wild, and often strayed in different directions. Whenever we met Ti Maria in these straits, Francisco was the first to run to her aid. He helped her to lead the flock to pasture, chased after the stray ones and gathered them together again. The poor old woman overwhelmed Francisco with her thanks and called him her dear guardian angel. When we came across any sick people, he was filled with compassion and said: “I can’t bear to see them, as I feel so sorry for them! Tell them I’ll pray for them.”
One day, they wanted to take us to Montelo to the home of a man called Joaquim Chapeleta. Francisco did not want to go. “I’m not going, because I can’t bear to see people who want to speak and cannot.” (The man’s mother was dumb.) When Jacinta and I returned home at nightfall, I asked my aunt where Francisco was.
“How do I know!” she replied. “I am worn out looking for him all afternoon. Some ladies came and wanted to see you. But you two were not here. He vanished, and never appeared again. Now you go and look for him!”
We sat down for a bit on a bench in the kitchen, thinking that we would go later to the Loca do Cabeco, certain that we would find him there. But no sooner had my aunt left the house, than his voice came from the attic through a little hole in the ceiling. He had climbed up there when he thought that some people were coming. From this vantage point he had observed everything that happened, and told us afterwards: “There were so many people! Heaven help me if they had ever caught me by myself! Whatever would I have said to them.” (There was a trapdoor in the kitchen, which was easily reached by placing a chair on a table, thus affording access to the attic.)