Francis shook his head. "Sure he doesn't. That's why he brought plagues and all that. Your compassion is as sincere as my belief that God isn't an ass. Are you going to keep wasting my time?"

Gabriel sighed. "Look. You can go to the soup kitchen for food. They sometimes have beds available when the weather gets cold. You can sit down and talk to me. But I will not listen to you justifying stealing."

Francis tilted his head and stared. He frowned more then seemed to realize it wasn't working and smiled. "Maybe I can work for money ? scrub the pews or wash windows?"

Gabriel thought for a moment. The church used to be cleaned by some sister, whom his predecessor had apparently bullied away. Now volunteers did it sometimes. They could not afford to sustain a cleaner at the moment and it would only be a small job. But Gabriel figured he could try to cut his own expenses. If that could help a man long enough to get his life back on the rails. "If you promise me you will not try to steal again... Once a week." And he named a few hours worth pay. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Francis smiled and held up a hand. "Alright, you have my word. I won't steal from the church." He looked pleased. "I'll try this soup kitchen you mentioned to tide me over and maybe you can keep an ear out for anyone needing a little extra help? If things go my way maybe I can turn around." He gave a strange grin and winked "Maybe you'll put a little bit of God in me yet." Was it an obvious euphemism? It was to him but couldn't be too obvious.

"I hope you shan't steal at all anymore," Gabriel said in a grave voice. He completely missed the euphemism and said: "No one is ever without God. Not in this life, anyway. Now, are you hungry? I can give you some food, if you empty your pockets." Being charitable didn't mean being dumb. For all he knew the man carried a knife.

"I can try, but it is a long time before I get paid. I deserve to live, father." Francis said unamused but trying to be nice. "Oh I do believe he turns his back on people for whatever reason. If he was there, he'd have saved 'em. Or not caused the illness in the first place." He shrugged and walked towards him as he turned out his pockets showing the only thing in them was a button that had fallen off of his shirt and he had no way to put it back on yet. "I won't hurt ya. I may have many issues, but I don't want to hurt anyone. Now, about that food?"

Gabriel wished he had the answers, but he didn't. All the time, he told people stealing was wrong. And yet wealthy people were throwing expensive parties, with more food than they could eat, while beggars died on the street. No wonder the poor stayed away and the wealthy still came to church (though with his sermons, that group might soon stop coming too). Nor could he answer why young people got sick and died.

He chose to answer the only question he could: "This way." And he led the young man through the sacristy, into the presbytery. "Mrs. Dawson!" He called, and an elderly lady came out of the kitchen. She looked at Francis disapprovingly. It was hardly the first time Gabriel brought in someone to be fed, though usually they were children. "Please heat up some stew and potatoes for Mr...?" He looked at the man.

Francis didn't like the way the priest seemed to not try to give him some sort of lie. 'It was all God's plan' or something. Though he didn't want to hear that either. At least he was being nice and feeding him.

He nodded to the woman and offered her a dirty hand. "Francis Tully..."

The woman looked at the hand, looked at Gabriel, finally shook the hand with a "Lizzie Dawson," and disappeared into the kitchen, probably to wash her hands ten times. Gabriel led Francis into the dining room and offered him a seat. It was a relatively large room, with a high ceiling. The wooden walls were decorated with woodcarving and paintings of several bishops and priests. The chairs were made of fine wood, with purple cushioning and a high back. The dining table was long and made of dark polished wood.