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' reaved mother talked with each, a
word, and then led them to the cas
ket in the parlor,, each time drooping
her head lower under the prolonged
burden of .sorrow..
At last .the haclts" -came. There
were two of them.
"My -boy,, my boy, my boy!" sob
bed the' mother at the head of the
casket. "It is time tc- go, mother!"
said the father in a low. voice. Mrs.
"She is going to sing!" some one
whispered to me; Yes. That was it.
This Finish mother of Spartan-like
courage was herself leading the song.
The others took up the refrain. They
were singing "Over the River."
Her voice faltered and nearly broke
a dozen times, but she carried the.
wonderful old hymn on to the end.
It was over now, the lid fastened
down on the casket, the pallbearers
took up their burden of love and fol
lowed to the church. The scene in
that place of worship was heartrend
ing. And I knew as, I sat down with
the family in front of those twelve
silent caskets that other scenes,
equally as sad, were being enacted in
every other church in Calumet:
When the last 'casket had been'
borne out into the cold ,iay and the
last-mburner had been' placed in
hacks,", the funeral procession,, "two
miles long, commenced to move to-,
ward the cemetery.
It is- a terrible sensation to ride
with the bereaved behind 72 dead be
ings. . AH through the streets of Calumet'
we moved -while the church ' bells
tolled the death knell, and thousands
and thousands of people lined our
After the long heartbreaking line
of corpses came the mourners. And
after them a great host of marching
men, women and children who braved
intense cold to walk nearly two miles
fo the cemetery.
"The people, the people. How
mony of them!" said .Mrs. Joqipii, as
she lifted her veil, once, during the
That was all she knew of the great
outside world until we reached the
cemetery, where hearses and hacks
and people stood crowded together on
every available spot.
There were no services at the
graves. Uno Jokipii was buried as all
the other victims of the panic, as
quickly and as quietly as possible.
As soon as his casket touched the
ground, the grief-stricken mother
took -up her position at the head of
the grave. "My boy, my boy, my
dear, dear little one," she wept again
and again. Then throwing a bit of
dirt onto the coffin and looking once
more, into the open-grave, Mrs. Jokipii
turned into the arms of her husband
and started toward a neighboring
hill where the greater number of fine
dead were being laid in two long
Her eyes were still pouring out
tears. Her heart was still breaking
for her lost child. But she was hur
rying to share the sorrow of others
and share her sympathy with them.
All of these tearful -funerals are
over, but every human heart is still
breaking in this city of caskets and
GOT THE -NAMES MIXED
Through the transposing of.names
in its account of the hold-up of H. P.
Engel, 3047 N, Spaulding av., on Dec.
19, The Day Book made it appear as
though Mr. Engel was .the perpetrat
or rather than the' victim of the hold
up. According, The Day Book wishes
,to correct itself. '
DAWES HOTEL OPENED
The Rufus F. Dawes Memorial ho
tel, where "down-and-outs" can get
a bath and a bed for'" five cents, a
private room for ten cents and meals
at from 7 to 15 cents, ws opened for
business today. Charles G. Dawes,
president of the Central Trust Com
pany, built the hotel as a memorial
to his only son, who was drowned in
Lake Geneva, Wis., one year ago.