"Of course," Gabriel said, even though his head was hurting worse now. Still, he was somewhat pleased that the other priest asked about the parish immediately. How to describe it though? "It's not a large and busy parish, if you choose not to go out of your way. There are a number of families who come every Sunday."

At least they had started coming back under Kemble. Not because the man was such a good and passionate preacher, for even in his most charitable moments, Gabriel couldn't claim that. But because it was part of their way of life. They were the economically comfortable type, who had taken offense at some of Gabriel's preaching, and he knew that complaints about him had reached the bishop before he himself had confessed his guilt. There had been some who had stayed while he was parish priest and who were still friendly to him now and asked him what they could do. They made him feel comforted and encouraged. But in his quiet moments of prayer, he would wonder whether their support was just feeding the conceit and indocility in himself that he was trying to root out.

"But the poor members come to church far more irregularly. If..." He looked at Malachi hesitantly. Kemble had been irritated. "If you want to reach them, you might have to go to them. They might come in for their baptisms and weddings and funerals." And they did come to Mass on particularly cold Sundays. "I used to visit them and tried to teach them some simple prayers and encouraged them to pray the Rosary and the like, so that they would still maintain a life of faith, but I'm afraid that has only encouraged them in shunning their Sunday Obligation." At least that was what the bishop had accused him of.