Captain: 'Appy days, Patch!
All: 'Appy days!
(They lift their cups in memory of a golden past. It is a contented family around the evening candle. They are as cozy as old ladies with their darning. Meg snores in peace as the curtain falls.)
Our candles have burned to socket. Our pasteboard cabin is bare and dark. No longer do pirate flags flaunt the ghostly seas. The stormy ocean, the dizzy cliffs of Devon, melt like an unsubstantial pageant. Let's put away our toys—the timber leg, the patch, the frightful hook. Once again, despite the weary signpost of the years, we have run on the laughing avenues of childhood.