And then and there I asked him of the city and he said he had never heard tell of any such place.  And I said, “Come, come, you must pull yourself together.”  And he looked angrily at me; but when he saw me draw from amongst my purchases a full bottle of whiskey and a big glass he became more friendly.  As I poured out the whiskey I asked him again about the marble city on Mallington Moor but he seemed quite honestly to know nothing about it.  The amount of whiskey he drank was quite incredible, but I seldom express surprise and once more I asked him the way to the wonderful city.  His hand was steadier now and his eyes more intelligent and he said that he had heard something of some such city, but his memory was evidently blurred and he was still unable to give me useful directions.  I consequently gave him another tumbler, which he drank off like the first without any water, and almost at once he was a different man.  The trembling in his hands stopped altogether, his eye became as quick as a younger man’s, he answered my questions readily and frankly, and, what was more important to me still, his old memory became alert and clear for even minutest details.  His gratitude to myself I need not mention, for I make no pretence that I bought the bottle of whiskey that the old shepherd enjoyed so much without at least some thought of my own advantage.  Yet it was pleasant to reflect that it was due to me that he had pulled himself together and steadied his shaking hand and cleared his mind, recovered his memory and his self-respect.  He spoke to me quite clearly, no longer slurring his words; he had seen the city first one moonlight night when he was lost in the mist on the big moor, he had wandered far in the mist, and when it lifted he saw the city by moonlight.  He had no food, but luckily had his flask.  There never was such a city, not even in books.  Travellers talked sometimes of Venice seen from the sea, there might be such a place or there might not, but, whether or no, it was nothing to the city on Mallington Moor.  Men who read books had talked to him in his time, hundreds of books, but they never could tell of any city like this.  Why, the place was all of marble, roads, walls and palaces, all pure white marble, and the tops of the tall thin spires were entirely of gold.  And they were queer folk in the city even for foreigners.  And there were camels, but I cut him short for I thought I could judge for myself, if there was such a place, and, if not, I was wasting my time as well as a pint of good whiskey.  So I got him to speak of the way, and after more circumlocution than I needed and more talk of the city he pointed to a tiny track on the black earth just beside us, a little twisty way you could hardly see.