‘More exciting than those pencil sketches you’ve seen me make, eh?’ Uncle Ned’s voice came from across the room. ‘Is it the colours?’ he asked.
Trix scrambled up, with a nod. ‘But it’s the stories in the paintings, too. They’re all stories. This one here, it’s the Sleeping Beauty isn’t it? You can see all those girls asleep too, lying round her, they must be her maids. And the roses and briars, they’re growing in through the window and all over the furniture.’
Uncle Ned seemed pleased. He was laughing.
‘Quite right. Not everyone observes so closely, Trix, you’d be surprised. Come and look, I’ve got something over here to show you,’ he beckoned.
‘My friend Mr. William de Morgan makes these tiles,’ he said, lifting heavy shining squares one by one out of a stout wooden case. ‘What about
