Long years ago, in time so remote that history does not fix the epoch, a dreadful war was waged by the king of Scotland. Scottish valor prevailed; and the king of Scotland, elated by success, sent for his prime minister.
"Weel, Sandy," said he, "is there ne'er a king we canna conquer noo?"
"An it please your majesty, I ken o' a king that your majesty canna vanquish."
"An' who is he, Sandy?"
The prime minister, reverently looking up, said, "The King o' heaven."
"The king of whaur, Sandy?"
"The King o' heaven."
The Scottish king did not understand, but was unwilling to exhibit any ignorance.
"Just gang your ways, Sandy, and tell King o' heaven to gi'e up his dominions, or I'll come mysel' and ding him oot o' them; and mind you, Sandy, you dinna come back to us until ye ha'e dune oor biddin'."
The prime minister retired much perplexed, but met a priest, and, re-assured, returned and presented himself.
"Weel, Sandy," said the king, "ha'e ye seen the King o' heaven? and what says he to our biddin'?"
"An it please your majesty, I ha'e seen one o' his accredited ministers."
"Weel, and what says he?"
"He says your majesty may e'en ha'e his kingdom for the axin' o' it."
"Was he sae civil?" asked the king, warming to magnanimity. "Just gang your ways back, Sandy, an' tell the King o' heaven that for his civility the de'il a Scotchman shall set foot in his kingdom."