"To serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden," interrupted Arthur, reading from the book, "and, oh, Mary! that reminds me—travel—travellers. I've got a name for your part just coming into my head. But it dodges out again like a wire-worm through a three-pronged fork. Travel—traveller—travellers—what's the common name for the—oh, dear! the what's his name that scrambles about in the hedges. A flower—you know?"
"Deadly Nightshade?" said Harry.
"Deadly fiddlestick!—"
"Bryony?" I suggested.
"Oh, no; it begins with C."
"Clematis?" said Adela.
"Clematis. Right you are, Adela. And the common name for Clematis is Traveller's Joy. And that's the name for you, Mary, because you're going to serve their senses that travel by hedges and ditches and perhaps have no garden."
"Traveller's Joy," said Harry. "Hooray!"
"Hooray!" said Adela, and she waved the Weeding Woman's bonnet.
It was a charming name, but it was too good for me, and I said so.