ROBIN MEREDYDD lived near Pant Sion Siencyn, in Carmarthenshire. As he was going afield early one fine summer's morning he heard a little bird singing very sweetly on a tree close by his path. Allured by the enchanting strain, he sat down under the tree until the music ceased, when he arose and looked about him. What he saw filled him with amazement. The tree which was green and full of life when he sat down was now withered and barkless. He returned to the farmhouse which he had left. It was covered with ivy, and in the doorway stood an old man whom he had never before seen. "What are you doing there?" asked Robin. "That's a pretty question," said the old man, angrily. "Who are you that dare to insult me in my own house?" "In--your--own--house?" repeated Robin. "Yes, certainly," said the old man. "But what is your name?" "I am Robin Meredydd, and it is only a few minutes since I went out of this house and sat under yonder tree to listen to a little bird's song." "Robin bach, and is this indeed you?" cried the old man. "I often heard my grandfather, your father, bewail your absence. Long were you searched for, and old Siwan, Pant y Ceubren, said you were under the power of the fairies and would not be released until the last sap of that sycamore tree would be dried up. Come into the house, my dear uncle, I am your nephew." The old man took Robin by the band, but Robin crumbled into dust on the doorstep.