Smaller towns, in Malachi's experience, tended to drown themselves in vice thicker than even the clouds of it that plagued bigger cities. In cities, there were ever more chances to be caught, to run into those that would not stand for your ways. Where the people were fewer, they had all the more reason to run wild in their isolation, pulled along their chaotic paths by the invisible strings of their vices alone.

Father Richards' little pause, along with the subsequent spilling of his tea, earned a warm smile from the older priest. There was no fault in being clumsy, and he would not judge him for it.

"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that," said Malachi, in regards to the small percentage of their parishioners who came in search of penance. That, too, was nothing that could not be managed and improved with a bit of work. It was what Malachi was good at, what he enjoyed more than anything else about working in the way he did -- and he had never left a church without at least improving the frequency and fervency of their confessions.

"My previous parish was much the same," he offered, so as not to give the impression that he was displeased with the sound of Whitby. After taking another small sip of his tea, he continued.

"I hope that, if we involve ourselves more in their daily lives -- making sure that they see the Lord's grace, and aren't only told of it -- regular attendance and participation will come naturally. They should not view it as an obligation, even if it is."

His gaze had strayed again to his cup, and he spoke partly to himself, partly to the other priest, sorting through his thoughts.

"In any case, I look forward to serving with you."