You think the boy might not be mine?
A Colorado farm boy was found cowering from his father's wrath in the loft of a barn while a retarded Illinois ten year old was lured to the house of a local registered sex offender after being told his parents had sold him to the man.
For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question.
The boy was startled and his eyes were big.
If the boy had been his, how would his good intentions have made her husband feel?
He had not gone far when he met a larger boy, who was blowing a whistle.
The photo was fuzzy and the boy was young, but the eyes - she was sure it was Bordeaux.
He grabbed the child under his arm and after dropping the now limp boy on the other side, climbed back over.
The boy was jubilant to be with a dad he loved and away from an overly strict mom.
The story related the successful return of a young boy kidnapped from his San Francisco home.
They'd like to search the LeBlanc's place on the off chance our boy broke in there too and maybe got careless.
She set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol.
Also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself.
"None of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating."
"No!" replied the boy and the girl, together.
Corn, my boy, for fodder; corn for fodder.
Sunday began with a lost boy who we located in a local forest but was found by the time we called in the tip.
Fortunately, the boy ran off but the police, who were following Bryce based on our earlier tip, photographed his attempted abduction.
Howie was able to view the abduction, though it was particularly brutal as the young boy was knocked unconscious and bleeding.
Betsy lined up two likely abductions and she was anxious to get started, Quinn had already performed his part, setting his apparatus appropriately for a rural Iowa location where a twelve year old boy had gone missing.
If our boy made his getaway at more than five or ten miles an hour, you can bet your ass he was on one of these babies.
Our boy John Luke Grasso drives a motor home!
"Excuse me, ma'am," the boy called out in a quiet, nervous voice.
While uneasy, Damian suspected Jenn was seasoned enough to handle the boy for a month.
Neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes.
There was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again.
"If that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?"
The others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness Jim to the buggy.
"They seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently.
"Are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone.
One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison.
One day he would order his camp bed to be set up in the glass gallery, another day he remained on the couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room and dozed there without undressing, while--instead of Mademoiselle Bourienne--a serf boy read to him.
A little serf boy, seeing Prince Andrew, ran into the house.
But believe me, my dear boy, there is nothing stronger than those two: patience and time, they will do it all.
"Oh, what a boy I was!" he said aloud bitterly.
It was a portrait, painted in bright colors by Gerard, of the son borne to Napoleon by the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boy whom for some reason everyone called "The King of Rome."
A very pretty curly-headed boy with a look of the Christ in the Sistine Madonna was depicted playing at stick and ball.
A young round-faced officer, quite a boy still and evidently only just out of the Cadet College, who was zealously commanding the two guns entrusted to him, addressed Pierre sternly.
The handsome boy adjutant with the long hair sighed deeply without removing his hand from his hat and galloped back to where men were being slaughtered.
"Yes, yes: go, dear boy, and have a look," he would say to one or another of those about him; or, "No, don't, we'd better wait!"
They were the yard porter Ignat, and the page boy Mishka, Vasilich's grandson who had stayed in Moscow with his grandfather.
"Isn't it fine, eh, Uncle Ignat?" said the boy, suddenly beginning to strike the keyboard with both hands.