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Updated: July 6, 2025
"How should we hear of it," asked Crumpet with a growl, "when we was on this side of the Mississippi?" "Wasn't I over in Kentucky about three years ago? I rather think I was, and would have been froze to death with Simon Kenton and a few of the other boys if it hadn't been for this copper-colored rascal ain't that so, Deerfoot?"
The fermentation which has already taken place in the nut has impregnated the flower with a leaven; this, without any further addition, expands the dough when in the oven, and the cake produced is very similar to a crumpet, both in appearance and flavor.
"They were worth knowing," he said, with his eyes upon the sheet. "But I should have thought he was too old a hand himself to get into trouble." Sir Beverley grunted. Piers read on. At the end of a lengthy pause he laid the paper aside. "I'm beastly rude," he remarked. "Have a crumpet!" "Eat 'em yourself!" said Sir Beverley. "I hate 'em!" Piers picked up the plate and began to eat.
"It's just like that horrid, beastly fizzy stuff they gave me that made me feel happy." "Oh, it isn't like anything but itself!" answered Diana, breathing deeply. "Why, it's all cold, and yet it feels like fire." "Balmy is the word we use in Fleet Street," said Mr. Moon. "Balmy especially on the crumpet." And he fanned himself quite unnecessarily with his straw hat.
Hawkins, Kellogg and Crumpet were on their way home, having started a little later than their custom, and they had reached the point referred to on the preceding night, when they halted and went into camp. In the morning, when they began to reload their animals, it was found that a rifle belonging to Kit Kellogg was missing.
Limehouse Road was deserted save by dust and a few rattling butchers' carts, and the bell of the muffin and crumpet man. A commodious mansion, which stood on the right of the road as you enter Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a high fence surmounted by a cheval de frise of broken glass, looked to the passing and footsore pedestrian like the genius of seclusion and solitude.
Limehouse Road was deserted save by dust and a few rattling butchers' carts, and the bell of the muffin and crumpet man. A commodious mansion, which stood on the right of the road as you enter Pultneyville, surrounded by stately poplars and a high fence surmounted by a chevaux de frise of broken glass, looked to the passing and footsore pedestrian like the genius of seclusion and solitude.
He had walked a very long way and was tired and it was an afternoon as hot as Summer. Suddenly there was a cry: "Help, please oh help to get Crumpet." He looked up and saw standing in front of him a little girl in a black hat and a short black frock she had red hair that the sun was transforming into gold.
Crumpet champed his meat in silence, using his hunting knife for fork and knife, and drinking water from the tin cup which he had filled a short distance away, and from which the others, excepting Deerfoot, also drank. Instead of answering the slur of Hawkins, he acted as though he did not fully catch his meaning, and did not care to learn.
Having delivered himself of these sentiments somewhat sententiously, Mr Crackaby, that was his name, proceeded to consume the crumpet. There was a general tendency on the part of the other guests to agree with their hostess, but one black sheep in the flock objected.
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