They came to the fence, beyond which the young fir wood bristled dense. There was a little gate, but it was locked. In the grass on the inside stood a bottle, empty.

“There’s the keeper’s empty bottle for his milk,” explained Mrs. Flint. “We bring it as far as here for him, and then he fetches it himself.”

“When?” said Connie.

“Oh, any time he’s around. Often in the morning. Well, goodbye Lady Chatterley! And do come again. It was so lovely having you.”