Grown-ups also went to visit her. They showed clearly how much they admired her demeanor, which was always the same, always patient, without being in the least demanding or complaining. Whatever the position in which she was lying when her mother left her, this was how she remained. If they asked her whether she felt better, she answered: "I'm just the same," or "I think I'm worse, thank you very much."
There was an air of sadness about her, as she lay silent in the presence of visitors. People stayed sitting by her bedside for long periods at a stretch, and looked as though they felt happy to be there. It was there also that Jacinta had to undergo detailed and exhausting interrogations. She never showed the slightest impatience or repugnance, but merely told me later: "My head aches so much after listening to all those people! Now that I cannot run away and hide, I offer more of these sacrifices to Our Lord."
The neighbors sometimes brought along clothes they were making, so that they could sit and sew by her bedside. "I'll work a little beside Jacinta," they would say; "I don't know what it is about her, but it is good to be with her." They brought their little ones along too. The children amused themselves by playing with Jacinta, and their mothers were thus left free to do their sewing. When people asked her questions, she answered in a friendly manner, but briefly.
If they said anything which she thought was improper, she promptly replied: "Don't say that; it offends the Lord our God." If they related something unbecoming about their families, she answered: "Don't let your children commit sin, or they could go to hell." If there were grown-ups involved, she said: "Tell them not to do that, for it is a sin. They offend the Lord our God, and later they could be damned."
People who came to visit us from a distance, either out of curiosity or from devotion, seemed to sense something supernatural about Jacinta. At times, when they came to my house to speak to me, they remarked: "We've just been talking to Jacinta and Francisco; when with them we feel that there is something supernatural about them." Sometimes, they went so far as to want me to explain why they felt like that. As I did not know, I simply shrugged my shoulders and said nothing. I have often heard people commenting on this.
One day, two priests and a gentleman came to my home. While my mother was opening the door and inviting them to come in and sit down, I climbed into the attic to hide. My mother, after showing them in, left them alone, while she went into the yard to call me. In the meantime, the good gentlemen were discussing the matter: "We'll see what this one will tell us."
"What impressed me," remarked the gentleman, "was the innocence and sincerity of Jacinta and her brother. If this one does not contradict herself, I'll believe. I don't know what it is I felt in the presence of those two children!"
"It's as though one feels something supernatural in their presence," added one of the priests. "It did my soul good to talk to them."
My mother did not find me, and the good gentleman had to resign themselves to taking their departure without having been able to speak to me. "Sometimes," my mother told them, "she goes off to play with other children, and nobody can find her."
"We're very sorry! We greatly enjoyed talking to the two little ones, and we wanted to talk to your little girl as well; but we shall come back another time."
One Sunday, my friends from Moita, Maria, Rosa and Ana Caetano, and Maria and Ana Brogueira, came after Mass to ask my mother to let me go and spend the day with them. Once I received permission, they asked me to bring Jacinta and Francisco along too. I asked my aunt and she agreed, and so all three of us went to Moita.
After dinner, Jacinta was so sleepy that her little head began to nod. Mr. José Alves sent one of his nieces to go and put her to bed. In just a short while, she fell fast asleep. The people of the little hamlet began to gather in order to spend the afternoon with us. They were so anxious to see Jacinta that they peeped in to see if she were awake.
They were filled with wonder when they saw that, although in a deep sleep, she had a smile on her lips, the look of an angel, and her little hands joined and raised to towards heaven. The room was soon filled with curious people. Everyone wanted to see her, but those inside were in no hurry to come out and make room for the others.
Mr. José Alves, his wife and his nieces all said: "This must be an angel." Overcome, as it were, with awe, they remained kneeling beside the bed until, about half-past four, I went to call her, so that we could all go and pray the Rosary in the Cova da Iria and then returned home. Mr. José Alves' nieces are the Caetano girls mentioned above.