The Foundling by Lloyd Alexander Page A

somehow.”
    Knotting up the string, he set out on his way again, shivering, shaking, and playing for all he was worth to keep himself warm.
    He wandered on, following the swiftly flowing river. Suddenly he heard a child’s voice crying in distress and terror. Clapping heels to his horse’s flank he galloped down the riverbank. A small girl had tumbled into the water and the hapless child struggled vainly against the current already sweeping her away.
    Fflewddur leaped from his mount and plunged with a great splash into the river, flailing his arms, thrashing his legs, striving with all his might to reach the drowning child.
    â€œThis would be an easy task,” he gasped, “if only I could swim!”
    Nonetheless, he pressed on, choking and sputtering, until he caught up the child. Keeping afloat as best he could, he turned shoreward; at last his long shanks found footing on the riverbed, and he bore the girl safely to dry land.
    Comforting her all the while, though water streamed from his nose, ears, and mouth, he made his way to the cottage from which she had strayed. There, the husbandman and his wife joyously threw their arms about their daughter and the bedraggled Fflewddur as well.
    â€œPoor folk we are,” cried the farm wife. “What reward can we give? All we have is yours, and small payment for saving our greatest treasure.”
    â€œDon’t give it a thought,” Fflewddur exclaimed, his face lighting
up as he warmed to his tale. “Why, to begin with, it was in my mind to have a dip in the river. As for the rest—a trifle! A Fflam swims like a fish! With only a few powerful strokes—”
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    The harp twitched violently and a pair of strings gave way with an earsplitting crack.
    â€œDrat and blast!” muttered Fflewddur. “What ails these beastly strings? The dampness, I’ll be bound.”
    Taking his leave of the family, for some days he wandered happily to his heart’s content, finding himself at last before the stronghold of a noble lord. To the guards at the gate, Fflewddur called out that a bard had come with music and merriment, whereupon they welcomed him and led him to the lord’s Great Hall.
    No sooner had Fflewddur begun to play than the lord leaped angrily from his throne.
    â€œHave done!” he burst out. “You yelp like a cur with its tail trodden, and your harp rattles worse than a kettle of stones! Away with you!”
    Before Fflewddur could collect his wits, the lord snatched up a cudgel, collared the harper, and began drubbing him with all his strength.
    â€œAi! Ow! Have a care!” cried Fflewddur, struggling vainly to escape the blows and shield his harp at the same time. “A king am I! Of the mightiest realm in Prydain! You’ll rue this day when you see my battle host at your gates! A thousand warriors! Spearmen! Bowmen! A Fflam at their head!”
    While the harp strings broke right and left, the lord seized Fflewddur by the scruff of the neck and flung him out the gate, where he landed headlong in the mire.

    â€œA Fflam humiliated!” Fflewddur cried, painfully climbing to his feet. “Affronted! Beaten like a knave!” He rubbed his aching shoulders. “Yes, well, it’s clear,” he sighed. “Some people have no ear for music.”
    His bones too sore for the saddle, he made the rest of his way afoot, with his horse jogging after him. He had trudged a little distance when the selfsame lord and his train of servants galloped by.
    â€œWhat, are you still in my domain?” shouted the lord. “Begone, you spindle-shanked scarecrow! If once again I see that long nose of yours, you’ll have a drubbing better than the first!”
    Fflewddur held his tongue as the horsemen rode past, fearing more for his harp than his skin. “Stone-eared clot!” he grumbled under his breath. “A Fflam is forgiving, but this is more than any man can bear.” And he