Free The Thief of Venice by Jane Langton

not one cross but three, in that place called Golgotha. They had lasted for years, the three crosses, looming objects as familiar to passersby as the gallows at a country crossroad—built to endure and exterminate many a filthy beggar to come.
    He was awakened by the loud voice of his mother-in-law, chastising Ursula. A moment later there was a soft knock at the door. When he opened it, his daughter wrapped herself around his waist.
    He picked her up and sat down and settled her on his lap. "Papa," she said, leaning against him. "Papa?"
    "What is it, little one?"
    "What are those things?"
    He explained. She listened, then reached out to touch one of the small pieces of wood, but he caught her hand. "No, no, Ursula, you mustn't touch. I promised that no one would handle them but me."
    "Solo tu?"
    "Solo io."
    Ursula snuggled closer. "Please, Papa, may I have some money? "
    "How much do you want, little one? "
    It was a small sum. He gave her what she asked for, and at once she slipped off his knees, beamed at him, and left the room. A moment later she was on her way to her favorite shop.
    When she came home her grandmother was at the door. Dismayed, Ursula shoved her package inside her coat, but it was too late.
    "Ursula, what have you got there? Your father gave you money, didn't he? Your father spoils you rotten. Open that bag! Show me."
    Ursula tried to squeeze past her, but Mrs. Wellesley put her hands on the bag and tugged. Ursula hung on. For a moment there was a furious wrestling match, and then the package fell to the floor with a smash.
    "Oh, no," cried Ursula, falling to her knees. "You've broken it! I hate you!"
    Her grandmother stepped back, a little daunted, and said nothing more. But she hadn't given up. Whatever it was, she would find it. She would ransack the child's room until she did.
 
    *18*
    Mary had abandoned her list. She had completely lost track of what her camera had recorded, its shutter flicking open and shut five hundred times. She was floating in a sea of palaces and canals and little bridges with gondolas approaching and gondolas retreating and endless views of churches—the Salute, the Gesuiti, San Zaccaria, Santa Maria Formosa, San Francesco della Vigna, the Church of the Scalzi, Santa Maria dei Miracoli. Churches, churches, there were so many churches. Every little campo had its own, some with naked Gothic vaults, some with ceilings painted with visions of heaven.
    Her picture-recording notebook was forgotten. Surely when the pictures were printed, she would remember what they were.
    She had at last run out of film. Mary took her exposed rolls to a tabacchi on the corner of Salizada del Pignater and bought another dozen. The day was mizzling with rain. It was a good day to spend indoors. She asked Sam's advice.

    "Have you seen the Scuola di San Rocco?" he said. "You haven't? Well, go there. Take my word for it."
    "But what is it, a church?"
    "You'll see. Make Homer come with you. He hasn't seen anything at all. It's in San Polo. Here, let me see your map."
    Reluctantly Homer abandoned his plan for another day in the Marciana. Although the conference was over, he was still rejoicing in the exhibition. His kindly friend Sam had ordered the glass cases to be unlocked whenever il gentilissimo professore dagli Stati Uniti wished to examine a codex or an Aldine octavo.
    Actually, although Homer didn't know it, this laxity was a highly questionable practice, but Sam Bell was beyond caring.
    Today Homer had been planning to examine lovingly the first ten books of Livy and a particularly beautiful codex dedicated to the Venetian pope Paul II.
    He had a new card index with tabs, and the little tabs were organized under bigger tabs, and everything was arranged according to his old system of colored cards, pink, blue, green, and yellow, because Homer had a grand object in mind. He was planning to write an article for the Harvard Library Bulletin —assuming that the editors would accept one from a rank