a ilittle wooden church, here and ex-
horted' and comforted her fellow sufferers-and
friends in this way. '
It. was at the conclusion of one of
the funeral services a service over
a dozen or more victims of the.terri-'
ble" panic of Christmas eve. She was
mourner, for her little, son, Uno", who
fas suffocated near the foot of the
stairway of Italian hall at the strik
ers' Christmas celebration.
I was a mourner, too.
Because" the tears had come un
bidden to . my eyes when.I looked into
her. suffering face, Mrs. Jokipii had
bidden me follow the dead to its last
resting, place withher and her fam
ily. 'I went to her home early, for- the
funeral bells were to toll in every
church of many denominations
I throughout the city" at noon. Fathers
bringing their dead children to one br
other of the city's churches passed
me' in sleighs. Ambulances hurried
by me carrying corpses to other ap
pointed places. And .the streets were
filled with white hearses, most of
them on runners, for the whole- city
is enveloped now in a coat of quiet
Mrs. Jokipii met me at the door.
She was 'suffering intensely, I could
see by her drawn face, but she would
not let the world think her heart tbo
heavy for the- duty of the day. Fin
nish friends came to the front door,
the side door and the back, door, by
twos and threes and dozens. The be-r
BURYING BABY-VICTIMS CHRISTMAS TRAGEDY
1 ; r-- :
A FuneraL Profcesstn in Calumet. This One, of Sunday, Was Two IVhiu3
. Long and Thousands Lined Its Way to the Cemetery.
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