Mackenzie sat with his back to a haycock thinking in this vein.
The Haycock cannot crow; he has no brains, No,—not enough to go in when it rains.
He is not gamy,—fighting's not his forte, A Haycock fight is just no sort of sport.
Then he drove along beside a haycock and stopped the horses.
His haycock, too, was as large as a hill in comparison with those of his brothers.