THE EXECUTION.
The great market place was the heart of the city. The streets, like so many arteries, emptied into its pulsating center. There all the buying and selling went on. Here was a fruit stand from which a bronze Lamanitish goddess flicked the flies. Yonder was a clothier's containing garments of chameleon dyes. There were cafes, candy stands, butcher shops, fish from the lake, venders of pottery, and makers of lace. The band played there in the afternoon, and lovers sought the shade of its arbors in the evening.
This morning something of unusual occurrence was about to happen. People were running hither and thither. There was a hushed murmur of excitement among the crowds, which were larger than on any market day. Four regiments of soldiers were stationed at the comers, while a fifth was keeping the people back from an open space in the middle of the square.
"Wherefore the crowd?" asked the countryman who had just brought his cart of vegetables to the city that morning, of a young man who was hurrying to the scene.
The other looked at him in surprise, "Why, they are going to burn the Prophet Abinadi."
"They're not going to burn him alive?"
"How do you think they'd burn him—dead?" he threw back over his shoulder, as he hurried on.
The crowd was impatient.
"Light the fire, and let us see if this false prophet is pluckily true to his convictions."
"What are they waiting for?" called another.